


and i'm left to bloom and bleed.

by 200percent_inlove



Category: K-pop, Real Person Fiction, Red Velvet (K-pop Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200percent_inlove/pseuds/200percent_inlove
Summary: It’s at twenty-five that Seulgi coughed up her first bloodied lily. And it was then, she felt her heart shatter.Hanahaki, idol AU.
Relationships: Kang Seulgi/Park Jimin (BTS), Seulmin
Comments: 38
Kudos: 58





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's end the year with a little bit of angst, shall we? Jk, haha. Long time no see, everyone; I hope you've all been well :3!  
> So, to briefly explain, this work has been sitting in my drafts for the longest time, and like most of my WIPs, I didn't expect this to come to fruition. Maybe it's because it's been rather rough for me these past few weeks, so I managed to come up with something LOL, so it's a win-win, in a way! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy :3!
> 
> Song Recommendation for Part 1:
> 
> [Tae-Yeon - A Poem Titled You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7sxc2aYTmo)

19.  
  


Kang Seulgi is nineteen-years-old when she receives the notification of her debut, and the timing of the news can never be more perfect. Perhaps it’s a mere coincidence that they decided to announce the results of the decided line-up a few days before her birthday, or as Soo-Young innocently puts it, it’s the company’s way of making the start of her and Seung-Hwan's twenties a memorable and joyous occasion. 

Whatever the case may be, Seulgi takes this as a tearful reminder that her seven-year sacrifice – the long nights spent alone with a microphone, cup _ramen_ and her cries to accompany through the lonely hours, the shameless berating from her trainers, the ankles that she’s overworked, the battle scars left behind on her skin like tiny colourless tattoos – was not for naught. 

They’ve done it, she thinks as she collapses onto the ground in a heaving mess, wrapped in the soothing arms of the oldest. The life as an idol trainee is officially behind them. 

And the gleaming, shining stage that she’s yearned for, dreamt of and fought for so tenaciously with her heart and soul – the very one that her seniors have performed on before roaring crowds and twinkling lights swaying with utmost synchronization to the upbeat melodies of their renowned songs – will finally, _finally_ be hers for the taking. 

* * *

20.  
  


But with the seemingly glamorous life as a doted celebrity eagerly awaiting them, it also comes with a list of unspoken rules that _all_ of them must follow. No ifs, ands or buts. No excuses. Because as Seulgi inevitably realizes, there is so much more attached to the four-lettered label than her day-to-day responsibilities. 

It is not just simply donning on flashy costumes and perfect, cutesy hairstyles and performing every week. Nor is it just ensuring that the choreography was always in tip-top shape. And it wasn’t just learning the best facial expressions to draw the public’s attention with – 

It’s all that. And _then_ some. 

She witnesses this first-hand in the way that her seniors get pulled apart, torn to pieces, ripped to shreds. So unfathomably condemned, simply for being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, with a frown displayed instead of a fake smile. Or, according to her newly-assigned manager – a burly man with a gruff voice and a penchant to smoke ten cigarettes per day – the worse of the worst: Finding someone that they wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with, with intimate details splashed across the front page of newspapers and gossipy magazines for the world to crucify and vilify. 

And the thing is, Seulgi doesn’t _quite_ understand what’s so remotely unacceptable about it. Maybe it’s because she’s only just turned twenty, with lips that have never tasted anything else other than sweat, tangy and salty, and pale, elegant hands that haven’t held anything else but a microphone that she questions, is it _that_ heinous of a crime, to fall in love? Her words, spoken with childlike wonderment, slips off her tongue: Wouldn’t they support her wholeheartedly? 

Joo-Hyun, stumbling into the room a few seconds later, tells her point-blank no. It’s what the company wants. Always, always, always the company first. It’s a means of maintaining revenue, she explains simply, of granting fans with a delirious, make-believe fantasy that they will all adhere to with affectionate smiles, fancy signatures and warm reciprocations of ' _I love you’ ._

Anything out of line, the older woman warns vehemently, was synonymous with voluntarily signing off a death warrant. 

And Seulgi tries to understand, but quite honestly, she _doubts_ that she’ll understand it even as the years pass her by. It’s a ridiculous rule, she knows, but as a fresh-off-the-boat recruit, the looming threat instills a fear so intense that it permeates throughout her body like a fast-acting toxin. 

The prospect of undergoing that herself, after having seen Tae-Yeon and Baek-Hyun _sunbaenim_ bear the brunt of the heat for having fallen for one another, is terrifying beyond measure. 

And so, for the final six months prior to their debut showcase, she slowly but surely learns to peel away from the reserved, tomboyish ‘Kang Seulgi’ and learns to step into the bubbly, bright persona of ‘ _Red Velvet’s_ Seulgi’. 

‘Kang Seulgi’ has her fair share of bad days, alongside her many good ones. But for ‘ _Red Velvet’s_ Seulgi’, she vows to _always_ live up to that name with vigour and gusto and to showcase the versatility of the velvet side with refined elegance and maturity. In short, she will never have a so-called _bad day,_ even when it hurts to even smile. 

‘Kang Seulgi’ is vocally opinionated. But ‘ _Red Velvet’s_ Seulgi’ will take care to watch her words – both online and offline. She borrows books from the library, noting the proper way to thank her fans and how to address controversies when she finds herself in hot waters. 

And lastly, while ‘Kang Seulgi’ would’ve _liked_ to experience a first love in its entirety – from the chase to the honeymoon and everything else that follows – ‘ _Red Velvet’s_ Seulgi’ vows that she won’t. And even, in the worst-case scenario, that she _does_ , she’ll brush it aside. Ignore it. Let those fleeting feelings fade into oblivion. 

She’s worked much too hard to let all of this go to waste with just a single person. 

* * *

August first is the day of their debut stage. 

The entire experience: It’s so surreal that the day doesn’t even feel _real_ _:_ How can this be? Just a mere half-year ago, she was still in her old, sweaty rags, practicing her dancing. 

And now, they have a working team of stylists, including a portly woman who seems to have taken a liking to Seulgi and insists on curling her the orange-tinted ends of her hair. Their make-up artists work swiftly and professionally, coating their faces in a thick layer of foundation and smoky liners and eyeshadows that still manages to look natural. Soo-Young raves over the green pigment interlaced in between the strands of brown, as does Seung-Hwan with the navy-blue. And Joo-Hyun – no question – is ethereally beautiful in the pinkish-red hues, as she always is. 

But indeed, it is _very_ much real. And there’s no mistaking the knock on their dressing room door – tentative, subtle and quiet. The nervous energy she detects is evident, and causes her to raise eyebrows as she hears a hasty scuffle outside: Something among the lines of, “No, Jiminie- _hyung_ , _you_ give it to them!” 

Their manager opens it, gruffly mumbling a greeting before he welcomes their guests in. It’s not one, but seven boys. Seven boys, clad in all-black attire, gold chains and additional accessories to match. It’s a little garish for her tastes, frankly, but she supposes that’s what makes them – _BTS_. They’re that up-and-coming boy group that everybody has been gossiping about, earning themselves some well-deserved recognition for their catchy songs (Boy in Luv and Miss Right being her personal favourites) and stylistic choreography. 

Seulgi studies them with subdued curiosity as the leader – Kim Nam-Joon, gangly and awkward, despite the loud hair colour that doesn’t suit him _at all_ – introduces themselves with their boisterous greeting (" _2! 3! Hello, we’re BTS!”_ ). As per the calendar, they _would_ be considered their seniors by one year (Attractive seniors, mind you), but their strange behaviour states otherwise. 

She doesn’t miss the way that the one standing in the center, the redhead with eyes that ready for sleep, fidgets uncontrollably when Seung-Hwan glances at him with a welcoming smile. And the youngest one, Jung-Kook, was it? Has he _never_ seen a woman in his entire life? He bore his eyes into his palms. Seulgi disguises a snicker as a cough; she’s _certain_ that he would’ve burnt a hole right through them. 

But it’s the one, lingering near the door, breathing in and puffing his chest outward, that captivates her attention. He spreads his perfectly-styled hair – here, there, everywhere. It looks better that way, actually, in comparison to the side-swept look he was aiming for. And there’s their latest release – a dark-covered thin bundle – gripped firmly in the other. 

Seulgi’s clenched fists relax upon his smile. A breathtaking sight. _Oh, this must be –_

“Hello. My name is Park Jimin. It’s nice to meet you.” 

The Jimin that she’s heard them whispering about behind closed doors. 

The voice that intrudes her ears so smoothly – sweet, like nectar – seems like such a contrast to his baby-faced facial features, and the dark make-up coating his eyelids can only do so much to give off a tough, rebellious aura. The album is not so appropriately named, she concludes with a laugh. Dark and wild. She’ll give credit where it’s due, though: At least he’s _trying_ to play up to that name. She can’t help but break out into a smile in return, and replies thoughtlessly as a teasing joke, “Ah, I know.” 

And then, as an eyebrow quips suspiciously upward on his face, she adds hastily: “U-um, I mean.” 

First day, it’s _only_ the first day and she’s already screwed up. She’s horrified, not only at her carelessness but at how quickly the blood pumps through her veins and floods her cheeks. Angling her body forward in an apologetic bow, she continues, “I mean, w-we should be giving you our album, Jimin- _sunbaenim_. I’m sorry that we have nothing to present to you as a gift just yet.” 

What she hears next – a jovial and melodious laugh – leaves her relieved, but when she stands upright once again, there’s a charmingly boyish smirk that’s plastered on his face. 

“Seulgi- _sshi_ , you’re very cute,” he drawls, coquettish with a hint of mockery. “Who’s to say that won’t be releasing an extended play any time soon?” 

“I um,” Stupid. She’s acting so irrationally _stupid_. A single grin shouldn’t leave her _this_ breathless. “I make no promises, but I will do my best.” 

They’re not granted much more time to talk after that, with BTS’ manager ushering them out in preparation for their next performance. A chorus of _“Red Velvet, fighting!”_ and _“_ _Bangtan_ _, fighting!”_ echoes within the small space room, and they file out one-by-one. The room is abuzz with excitement and compliments regarding Jung-Kook and the one with the bowl-cut (Tae-Hyung, she believes his name to be) fly past her ears. 

But for Seulgi, that's not what she's thinking about. 

Deep within her subconscious, there’s a voice cautioning her that she needs to take greater care with her behavior, but upon recalling that boy – the very one with the leather trousers and the messy hair and dexterous fingers that lingered a bit too long against the back of her hand – seems to drone it out altogether. 

_(The voice is quiet and hushed, but the harshness is evident as it whispers before waning completely, Park Jimin will be the one to ruin everything.)_

* * *

21.  
  


Twenty-one, and Seulgi is now officially one year into her debut, and already, she finds the sudden changes in their discography exhausting – but very much rewarding, all the same. She quickly discovers her fondness for their sensual and luxurious velvet concepts, and it pays off in the end because it earns her a quickly-developing personal fanbase that follows her diligently from airport to stage, and stage to dorm. 

And with the new addition of Kim Ye-Rim – a preppy, energetic sixteen-year-old that she immediately dotes upon – it brings the group closer than ever before. Their cohesiveness is strengthened and displayed, shining as bright as the spotlights that surround them in an ethereal glow as they sing about ice-cold desserts and clueless girls, dangerously infatuated. Seulgi is satisfied to know that their hard work is reflected with the crowds that gather for each subsequent performance. The cheers steadily grow louder, and she relishes in the way they chant her name, oddly hypnotic and trance-like, right after _‘Bae_ _Joo_ _-Hyun'_. 

Seulgi likes to believe that she’s doing an excellent job as an idol. 

But be that as it may, just because she’s doing her job justice, doesn’t necessarily _mean_ she’s immune to whatever vicious rumours are hurled her way unexpectantly, hitting her like a drunk driver without any warning – 

It’s an innocent enough question (“Which girl group would you like to get closer to?”), and frankly, there were plenty of answers that they could’ve gone with that wouldn’t have aroused suspicion. The so-called ‘safe’ answers, as her fellow colleagues say (“Girls’ Generation”; “2NE1”; “Brown Eyed Girls”; “Wonder Girls”) – 

But no, Park Jimin just _had_ to shyly mumble ‘ _Red Velvet_ ’, didn’t he? 

* * *

Rationally, Seulgi _should_ be angry. Furious. Frustrated, even. Because while they’re simple words, she knows how quickly it can spark a rabid, fanatical fire online. She sees it pop up on occasion: There was one particular article written by some author from Dispatch, reporting nothing noteworthy. It was all just simple media play regarding her stylish airport fashions – and yet, what she skims through and picks out through the condensed text are sentences full of livid, angry words; paragraphs, bitterly jealous; groundless accusations that point out supposedly matching accessories and phone cases. 

Her members try to soothe her explosive wrath by saying they’re just mere coincidences. It meant nothing, they tried to insist. But soon enough, they learn to let her work it out on her own terms – she slams the bedroom door shut, undeniably angry. 

Seulgi tosses her phone to the side, letting it crash loudly onto the floor after it misses the table. Yanking on the ends of her hair, she groans as thoughts of that smug smirk flood her mind. He’s technically a senior. Two years in. Two years in – and while she tries not to judge others on their actions, she cannot fathom how _he_ could be so negligent. 

(Why does she care so much about _him_ , though? If anything, Seung-Hwan's newfound friend, Jung Ho-Seok, answered the question with the same answer with an equally embarrassed chuckle, as if there was a deeper meaning to his confession – ) 

She wants to scream, “What in the world are they thinking?! Why would something as silly as him mentioning their group name lead to implications of a secretive relationship amongst the fans?” 

She shakes her head. She doesn’t know. And actually, she doesn’t _really_ want to know either. 

What she does want to know, however, is whether his answer was truthful. 

(And that irritates her more than everything else combined if she’s being honest.) 

Which is why, when she sees him the next time – sometime in the beginning of December, behind observant eyes and even more watchful members – she’s not exactly the friendliest. The polite curve Jimin has on his face seems to grow wider as the guarded Seulgi tugs on the ends of the skin-tight dress consciously – a black and white one-piece. It was a terrible idea to listen to Ye-Rim's backhanded compliment (" _You look like a walking, talking Oreo,_ _unni!_ _SO pretty!”)_ before confronting him. 

“Jimin- _sunbaenim_.” 

Nonchalantly, with a swaggering, confident gait, he says as he takes her in up and down, “Let me start off by saying how much I liked the yellow in your hair.” 

_That_ catches her off-guard because this – this thing that has somehow transitioned from a questioning to saccharine praise and sweet talk – isn’t supposed to happen, she panics. Where was the amateur, inexperienced rookie – with the orange toque and the white t-shirt who wore his shy, bashful grin when probed about girl groups – that was broadcasted through the television monitor earlier this year? Still, she can’t help but ask, “The yellow – from Happiness? Or the uh, blonde from Ice-Cream Cake?” 

(Oh, God. She is also **_NOT_** supposed to be asking these questions – 

But, there’s a shred of hope she’s gripping onto – tightly so – that he prefers the blonde that she sported during Ice-Cream Cake.) 

“I’ll leave that up to you to think about, although I think this – “ He takes a step back, drinking her appearance in observantly. That slight sparkle; she wonders what he’s thinking. Seulgi claims to be able to read people well, but Park Jimin just seems so incredibly mysterious. “Brown suits you wonderfully.” 

“T-thank-you.” 

“Oh, and just so you know, I prefer Jimin without any of the honorifics,” he corrects automatically. There it is again, that smile. _Why_ can’t she get enough of it? Or perhaps, the better question is: Why is she thinking such ridiculous things in the first place? “But I presume there’s more to this than you just asking for my unneeded opinion on something so superficial?” 

Too flustered to speak and too flattered to retaliate, Seulgi can’t do much but smooth out the dress once again – a knee-jerk reaction whenever her nerves got the best of her – and choke out, her voice choppy, “Did you – I mean, did you **_really_** mean it? What you said, on Yaman TV, I mean.” 

(This is not how she imagined this would pan out: With her, squirming awkwardly underneath his heated gaze; with him, seemingly taking utmost pleasure in her fumbling.) 

Realization dawns on him and takes over soon after. “Oh. That.” Is he blushing? Or is this just the effect of the fluorescent lights reflecting off of him? He scrubs his face, and even a simple action like that is enough to make her choke. “Okay, well – ” 

Saved by the bell – or in this case, the cluster of young men, strikingly handsome in their suits and their iridescent array of hair colours. “Oi, Jimin- _ah_! C’mon! We’re leaving!” 

And trepidation – powerfully raw – shoots through Seulgi’s body in alarm as Jimin shouts back quickly, “Be right there!” 

“W-wait. Jimin- _sshi_ , p-please tell me – “ 

He’s wearing an apologetic smile, but it soon fades away in a blur as he drifts closer in. His breath against her ear is strangely pleasurable. “I’m not really good with words sometimes, so maybe this will help you understand.” And just like that, he passes her by, swift as the wind, while her legs are glued frozen to the ceramic tiles. 

It isn’t until much later – with Joo-Hyun popping her head out of their dressing room asking that she join them immediately – that her finger cuts against something smooth and flat. Eventually, she uncurls her fingers and finds that she’s staring at a piece of paper, scrawled in ugly handwriting with eleven digits. 

* * *

22.  
  


(They do not end up becoming ‘ _just friends_ ’ – ) 

Seulgi is now two years into her debut, and things naturally grow busier for the quintet, especially after the release of the bubblegum-pop hit, Russian Roulette. It’s not her favourite title track, and plus, having to hurt her hair even more with the carrot-orange hair dye wasn’t something she wanted to put up with again, but to see the song perform so well on the charts – this tiny sacrifice is nothing in comparison. 

She knows that having one hit song is often followed with a hectic promotional schedule and whilst she does enjoy occupying herself with activities – a university festival here, a variety show featuring there – even _she_ experiences burn-out like any regular person. 

Sometimes, she finds it exhausting to have to feign continual, undying interest on a talk show, where the recording could extend late into the night and she’s close to half-asleep. Sometimes, it nauseates her that doing _aegyo_ is a requirement, not a choice. Sometimes, it drives her nuts that she can’t even spend some quality time with her family or friends. And sometimes, it wears her out that she needs to force her legs into tiny shorts that expose more skin than she would like. 

While Seulgi does remind herself daily that this is just the package deal of what it means to be an idol, she worries that there will come a time that she’ll explode and her carefully-crafted mask will inevitably crack. The oppressive forces squeezing from all directions and the high expectations of being a person under intense scrutiny and admiration stew inside of her like a pressure cooker, waiting to burst and explode – 

_From: Park Jimin_   
_Sent At: 12:38 A.M._

_Hey, I’m back from Japan. How have you been? Do you want to hang?_

Except, she doesn't. The impact of a simple five-worded question is astounding, to say the least. 

* * *

Seulgi is ultimately convinced that Park Jimin isn’t human. He just can’t be. Either he’s a Hogwarts student-in-training with a Time-Turner on hand, or at least some mystical being with the power to manipulate time or was simply blessed with endless stamina. 

“You’re not on your diet again, are you?” 

Because who on this very Earth would descend off a four-hour flight after a three-hour event and happily deliver her a plastic bag full of her favourite treats from Japan? 

She peers inside the bag in disbelief, pulling out thin boxes of Pocky and flavoured Kit-Kats. Setting them onto the sparkling white benchtop, she says, “No, but Jimin- _ah_ , you _do_ realize that we can get these from regular convenience stores, too.” 

“Well, Seul, the last time I checked, Pocky and Pepero aren’t the same snacks, so you’re going to take it, regardless” is all he huffs back. 

_Seul._

It’s the nickname that he’s christened for her. She’s seen this typed in their day-to-day responses, but to hear it escape his tongue so affectionately – it makes her cheeks grow hot. His breath expels into the air and spread like white mist. They make themselves comfortable on the frost-covered bench in their down jackets and masks pulled over their faces. “ _Matcha_ or hazelnut? Take your pick.” 

She picks the latter to eat for now, flattered and thankful that he remembered; his eyes crinkle into half-moons at the sight of her tearing into the package, and he dares to edge closer. His left foot grazes the side of her mud-flecked sneaker. 

If somebody had told Seulgi that their acquaintanceship would’ve grown to become something more than just a typical senior-junior dynamic, her first reaction would’ve been to laugh uncontrollably. After all, once upon a time, she had found him pretentious, showy (The ripped shirts and abdominal reveals – _really?_ ) and a tad bit too flirtatious for her liking. 

( _Especially_ in the way he passed her his personal number without giving a flying care at MAMA last Winter; he definitely didn’t seem like the innocent, doe-eyed youngster portrayed through his interviews then). 

Yet, here they are now. 

Here they are now, speaking of everything and anything imaginable and exchanging hilarious anecdotes that could leave her bursting in laughter for hours on end. 

( _“So, our group name is BTS, right? And our latest release is Blood, Sweat and Tears. BTS. And BST. I just, you know, I just found that pretty funny.”_

 _“Oh, Jimin, I really admire how you find anything amusing.”_ ) 

They may have played victims to the dreaded Murphy’s Law with their inability to share album and song promotional periods, but it didn’t seem to perturb Park Jimin in the slightest. Rather, he continued to extend a cordial friendship to her in the form of advice, supportive text messages, YouTube videos of Kyle Hanagami and what not. 

It fascinates Seulgi in two ways – the first being, as preoccupied as he was with his endless tours that traversed the seven seas, he _always_ reserved just a tiny bit of time to catch up with her. It was never too much or too little. Just right. Brief as it may be, a single message was always enough to dispel whatever stresses were occupying her thoughts that day. 

( _Like that time when she, after experiencing a miniature mid-life crisis over her Russian Roulette album jacket photos, sent him one photograph of a poorly-taken candid –_

_“I don’t think the orange suits me.”_

_“You’re right. It doesn’t go that well with your make-up.”_

_Deflated, she responded, “I knew it.”_

_“But, think of it this way: You’re stepping into the shoes as the Korean version of Merida for the next few weeks. And if Merida can handle something as big as fighting against her parents and refusing an unwanted marriage, I'm sure you are strong enough to handle an unappealing hairstyle for a month no problem. You can do it, Seul.”_ ) 

And the second, Seulgi muses as he spills an embarrassing narrative about his clumsy leader, it’s the very fact that she didn’t need to put up her defensive guise whenever he was around. With their positions as picture-perfect, goody-two-shoes, she tires herself out. Having to play out her alternative identity twenty-four seven without a single break – it leaves her tiresome and weary. 

Yet, with him – 

Jimin permitted her be her true self, even if it may just be for an hour or two. He made her see things in an alternative perspective, and that yes, things truly weren't as bad as she made it out to be. He provided her with solace and security in an industry that very much wanted to restrict these privileges. It’s a comforting feeling to be able to find a friend that didn’t hold her in high regard or ask her of ridiculous expectations. In such a superficial, cutthroat field, Jimin came to her in a refreshing breath fresh of air. 

If Seulgi wasn’t emotionally fine, she could openly confess that, reassured that he would listen. 

If she wasn’t at her happiest, he seemed capable of reading her mind even from miles away and inquire what’s wrong. 

And if she achieved something trivial – even something as small as _finally_ landing a dance routine that she had been practicing – he'd rejoice with her. 

And here’s the thing: Jimin himself isn’t perfect, either. He has his own struggles with his physical appearance (Why, though? She questions). He has his fair share of insecurities. He has his own fears, of not being able to achieve what he was set out to do or that he’ll disappoint those who believe in him. 

And yet, he still _chooses_ to put everybody else dear to him first before himself. 

Park Jimin, Seulgi realizes with a broken heart, is a good person. _Too_ good of a person, actually. He deserves so much more than what he offers to the world. 

Eventually, Jimin stops speaking upon noticing Seulgi’s gaze, laser-focused on him. It isn’t until he asks, “What are you thinking about, Seul? You’re looking at me pretty weirdly” that she snaps out of her stupor. 

Slightly dazed, she laughs in embarrassment, “Oh, was I?” 

“What are you thinking about?” He repeats, with a hint of forcefulness. 

“I just – “ Looking at him now, stationary and expectant for her answer, Seulgi suddenly finds great difficulty to continue. Instead, she lets her voice fade into a muted quietness and says nothing else. Instead, she takes his hand – calloused and dry – and squeezes. Her voice returns: “I’m just glad we’ve become friends, Jimin. Really.” 

Jimin holds their clasped hands up in the air with a cheesy grin, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to let go. Seulgi shares the same sentiments. “I don’t think – “ he swallows thickly, and she watches his throat bob. Underneath the dim moonlight, she sees the outline of his lips and a palpable desire nesting within his dark-brown irises. “Friends hold hands like this.” 

Perhaps it’s tiredness that skews her common sense. Or, it’s some supernatural force that’s taking over her body. But instead of releasing her hold on him, she tightens her grip, and she asks, uncharacteristically fearless, “Well, does something like that make you uncomfortable?” 

For a moment, Seulgi wonders whether Jimin had suddenly lost his nerve. But then, she watches him slide closer and closer. She starts to count. 

Five centimetres of space eventually becomes four. 

Then, three. 

And then, two. 

Their knees and their calves are touching. She secretly hopes that he closes the remaining distance. 

“Actually, I’d like to show you how I feel instead,” Jimin confesses, his eyes searching deep within hers for an affirmative sign. Prudently, cautiously, he adds, “If that’s alright with you.” 

It’s as if she could hear the thunderous thrum of his heart, beating erratically as he waits for her answer. Seulgi does not provide him with a verbal one. Instead, she responds by closing her eyelids shut. 

Jimin’s heart soars upon the sight, higher than ever. He does not wait and presses his lips against her own. 

If every single person on this Earth has their own version of Kryptonite, Seulgi thinks dizzily, then surely, Park Jimin is hers. 

_(And frankly, is anybody else surprised?)_

* * *

23.

At twenty-three, Seulgi is riding off the constant, never-ending highs of Red Velvet’s success. 

A renowned magazine from the West – Billboard, if she remembers correctly – pretentiously names them one of the most musically versatile Korean pop girl groups of this decade. She lands herself a few drama soundtracks to sing that ranks high on the charts. Red Flavour is blasted from stereos on every corner, and so is Peek-A-Boo. The dormitory is starting to grow full with each trophy – golden and gleaming – that they polish and display. 

She’s in a perpetual state of bliss, and it shows. 

It’s in the way she carries herself, as she skips throughout the narrow hallways of the SM Building. It’s in the way she tosses her head back, laughing cheerily at some stupid dad joke that Joo-Hyun cracked. And it’s in her smiles that she exchanges with Joon-Myeon and Se-Hun, to which her seniors take note of her light-hearted humming and can't help but return with a fond grin of their own. Upon turning the corner, she overhears them whispering, “Doesn’t our Seulgi seem _so_ happy recently?” 

Rhetorical question. 

Of course, she is. And after reflecting on it, she knows full-well it isn’t _just_ the group’s achievements that make her grin from ear-to-ear. It’s a humorous thought, she thinks as the expectant boy welcomes her in with a heartwarming hug after two months of long-distance; the fact that she managed to evade practically all the probing questions through poor acting. It forces a chuckle out of her. 

Jimin, half-asleep with his head resting in her lap, cracks one eye open and extends his hand upward to pinch her cheek. “Now, what is my lovely girlfriend giggling about?” 

“Do you think I should sign up for acting lessons?” 

He frowns. “Is this SM’s work again, forcing you to be a jack-of-all-trades? I thought they wanted to push Soo-Youngie for that role.” 

“Well, no,” Seulgi replies. “But imagine. If I’m good enough, I could be cast as the second-in-lead of a romantic comedy. You know how much I love them!” 

Upon seeing his disdainful stare, aghast and full of hurt, she quickly clarifies that she’s just joking. 

( _“I’m sorry, Jimin. It’s just that, when you look this affronted, you look so damn funny.”_

_“It’s not funny when I have to think about you kissing other people, Seulgi-yah. I am naturally a jealous person, as you know.”_

_“And that’s exactly what makes it so funny!”_

_“Take that back!”_

_“Or, what?!”_

_“Or else – or else, I’ll rip my shirts off in front of you and you’ll be sorry! Because I know how much you **despise** it when I do that!”_) 

Times of sheer, unadulterated happiness and absolute peace don’t come by often, especially with how renowned BTS has become across the globe. She doesn’t mind that she can count all of their dates with both hands and still have some fingers left over; she also could care less that they often spend their less-than-extravagant meals sitting in an emergency stairwell at the Big Hit building or at a convenience store late into the night. 

See, Seulgi herself is accustomed to domestic popularity and getting recognized on occasion by passer-by's, but sometimes, even _she_ can’t help herself and guiltily compare. 

SM has ideas for a tour in the West to be planned soon, but _Jimin_ – Jimin's already been on multiple world tours during his four-year tenure. She watches his guest appearances on American talk shows and notes that he _always_ garners the strongest cheers alongside Jung-Kook. No surprises there, who wouldn’t fall in love at first sight with him? 

And with all things considered, the very _fact_ that he – an extremely coveted member from a top-tier boy group – still insists on tying himself down to her when she hasn’t even achieved half of what he’s done. 

Sometimes, she has lingering thoughts that she isn’t good enough for him. She thinks that he deserves better than a measly girl group member – a dime a dozen now, really – who’s still waiting for the design of their official light stick. 

But, many times – many, _many_ times – Jimin manages to steer her back in the right direction. 

Like now, for instance. 

“Hey,” Jimin says suddenly, peeling himself away from Seulgi to sit up straight. "I got something to talk to you about.” 

Seulgi snorts, but she folds up the magazine she’s reading and rests her chin on her palm. “When do you never have something to tell me?” 

“I’m just – you know, I’ve been doing some thinking.” A pause. And then, a stilted laugh that makes his eyes crease and nose scrunch. One year together, and she still marvels in his perfect imperfections. “I’m a shitty boyfriend, aren’t I?” 

“Wait, what?” Taken aback, Seulgi’s brow furrows. “What makes you say that?” Rather, shouldn’t it be the _other_ way around? 

“It’s been a year.” Jimin’s picking at residual lint sticking to her shirt, completely crestfallen. “One year that we’ve been together, and I know that this type of set-up isn’t the most ideal. We need to hide. We can’t see each other as much as we would want.” He shrugs, resigned. “And I can’t do anything about this with how crazy our schedules get. I just feel so useless in making you feel loved and wanted. Like how a boyfriend _should_.” 

She gnaws on her lower lip. “Oh, Chim – “ 

“So, I guess I just wanted to say – I'm sorry.” He looks at her in heartbreaking agony. “But I’m still thankful for you, and that you haven't left me, even though you really could've after three months. I’m really, truly thankful for you, for being the one good thing that I can call my home when I’m on the verge of having a breakdown.” 

His confession makes her throat clench and eyes water, and whatever thoughts she had before are automatically pushed out of her mind. “Don’t be,” Seulgi whispers in urgency. “Hey. Chim. Look, I know how much pressure you put on yourself and that you feel as if you’re not meeting my standards or something. But, think of it this way.” 

He tips his head up. “Yeah?” 

“It’s not about what a boyfriend _should_ be doing, but how you do it,” she explains, finally breaking into a tender smile. “I like our candlelight dinners in the drafty fire exits. I like being able to hug you after a fifteen-hour flight, and I don’t care that you’re too drained to say another word and fall asleep halfway through a conversation. You’re _making_ the time to see me, and that effort counts more than anything.” 

“But,” he argues, apprehensive. He’s grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, curling and uncurling the cottony fabric rhythmically. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” 

“I won’t lie,” she admits. “It does on occasion, but you know? I find all of that secondary.” 

“Why is that?” 

Now, the truth is this.

Seulgi doesn’t _exactly_ know what quantifies as ‘love’. Which in retrospect, is ironic as hell, considering that nearly all of her soundtracks and the bulk of their album tracks speak of nothing _but_ that. As an adolescent, she used to believe that love had a checklist. A standard, if you will. A set list that required ticking off boxes whenever certain requirements were met, like if they remained faithful and never lied or kept their promises. A very childish and incorrect thought, indeed, because as she realizes, love is much too complex to be followed through with just a paper record and checkboxes. 

It’s what she feels now – this pang radiating throughout her chest and to her fingertips as he watches her every move. This feeling - it's what she's read about and dreamt of and prohibited herself from getting entangled with. But, nonetheless, she did, and she's _god-damned_ euphoric that she did. 

Gritting her teeth, she nods. Once, for him, which eases him slightly. And again, for herself, because now she knows. And she has never been more confident prior to this very moment. 

“Jimin," Seulgi says fondly. "It’s because I love you. And I hope you know one thing. I'll continue to be here for as long as you want me with you.” 

The boy stares at her, incredulous and wide-eyed before ducking his head into his forearm with a struggled laugh. She can't gauge whether she made the right choice or not, especially when he replies with: “Man, Seul. You, you really shouldn’t be saying things like this.” 

_Wait. Hold on one second._ Flabbergasted, the girl snaps hotly, “What?! S-so, I say all that, pour out my heart and soul to you and _this_ is what you say in return – “ 

And just as quickly, he manages to pacify her with a kiss on the cheek. It trails slowly downward, along the smooth curvature of her jawline and then rests, perfectly still, against the hollow base of her throat. He murmurs against her skin, gentile, “Because I think, I should be the one to say it first, no?"

Seulgi doesn't say anything. Instead, she closes her eyes and listens for the three words that she had been waiting to hear. 

"I love you, too, Seulgi." 

Now, Seulgi has made many, _many_ mistakes in the past – both off-stage and on-stage. Some are petty, non-significant. And some, rare and sporadic as they may be, have left behind some serious repercussions that she’s _still_ learning to navigate through. 

But as Jimin leverages her onto the couch and makes light work of the shirt she's wearing, she’s certain of one fact. 

Loving someone like Park Jimin - no, loving _Park Jimin_ is most definitely _not_ a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently, I've been playing this video game where it reflects on the main character's relationship with his long-term girlfriend. One quote that caught my attention was, "Oh, how innocent you two were back then" and I think it applies very well to Seulgi and Jimin here. The flushes of a first love - beautiful, fluttery and delightful with the impression that nothing can ever faze them. 
> 
> But unfortunately (And naturally), all good things do not remain the same forever. 
> 
> Alas, what will happen next? LOL. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! c: See you guys soon!


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (Belated) New Year, everybody! :) I really hope that the 2020 has been treating all of you very well and that you all thrive, succeed, grow and do everything that you set out to do this year. As always, I'll be here rooting for you!
> 
> First, please accept my apologies for a late update with this story. I've decided to add one more chapter because - yeah, adding so much trauma in one chapter may be too much X'D (Also because I felt guilty of leaving you guys hanging for a month OTL) 
> 
> Please note: There are mentions of relationship abuse (And one physical altercation), so if at any moment you feel discomfort, feel free to click out at any time.
> 
> Thank-you again for all the love for this story, friends :3!
> 
> Song Inspiration:
> 
> [Red Velvet - Psycho](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uR8Mrt1IpXg)

24.

People inevitably change. Why that happens, well, it could be for a multitude of reasons: Age, experience, perspective, knowledge. Often, it’s a combination of everything. Seulgi’s not immune to it, and she’s not idiotic enough to naively believe that things would remain stagnant for an eternity.

~~(Sadly, nothing lasts. Not even him.)~~

It’s her fourth year into the idol world now, and Seulgi’s no longer the shy, soft-spoken rookie that was warned to bite her heedless tongue. She does not stand behind her seniors during Music Bank anymore. Come to think of it, _she's_ taking their place now, front and center. She ensures that her gaze remains on the recognizable coral-pink glow sitting in the crowd of smiling faces, not on a certain someone who barely bats an eyelash at her in a public setting.

The thing is, Seulgi generally welcomes change, seeing it positively. Look at her, and the stages she’s danced on, the songs she’s sung her heart out for and the experience she’s cultivated under her belt. It’s transformed her into the crème-de-la-crème of performers. And while she’s not qualified in the slightest to be imparting words of wisdom as a so-called veteran, Seulgi learns to be more empathetic and understanding of the struggles that the doe-eyed trainees and fledgling juniors encounter during the early years of their debut.

But now that she’s truly reflecting on it, she can’t help but wonder, what happens when some changes she’s played witness to for the past year _don’t_ seem like it’s for the better?

* * *

Seulgi is twenty-four when she notices bits and pieces of Jimin’s personality changing.

Granted, they weren’t sudden or abrupt, leaving her dizzily blindsided from the blow. It was a gradual progression of tiny, noticeable things that accumulated over time. She doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s become heavy. So, so heavy for her to bear.

She sighs, gazing at the defined musculature in his back and his arms, hard at work pulling out garments from his closet. He’s preparing his outfits for their next stop in Taiwan, piling jackets upon jackets and sweaters upon sweaters atop the mattress. The mountain of fabric eventually topples over onto a pitiful lump on the hardwood floor, and Jimin lets out a strangled curse.

“What the _fuc_ – “

Another exasperated exhale escapes her lungs, audible for her ears only. Seulgi doesn’t want to watch him anymore.

(But she does, anyway. He gathers his clothes in one frustrated armful and throws them on the bed. A complete contrast to the person who once treated his belongings preciously. Refusing to turn a blind eye.)

It perplexes her that this person – was the same person from a year and a half ago.

Back then, Jimin and Seulgi would’ve been doing this task together. It’s stupidly childish, really, to play dress-up as if they were still in grade school, but as much as she tutted against it, it warmed her heart that Jimin wanted to take part in her interests – just because _she_ enjoyed it. In a way, the activity defined them. Similar to how Jung-Kook and Ye-Rim bickered about their abysmal cooking skills on a regular basis, their impromptu fashion cat-walks in the privacy of their shared apartment inevitably became _‘their thing’_.

* * *

( _“I honestly don’t think fashion is all that,” Jimin confessed one evening with his arms wrapped around Seulgi’s waist affectionately. “And I might not understand the whole colour coordination schtick too well, but trust me when I say, I really do love seeing your effortless ensembles.”_

_“Such a sweet talker,” Seulgi commented suspiciously. And with a roll of her eyes, she demanded snippily, “What is it that you want, Park Jimin? Out with it!”_

_“Nothing!” He chuckled, tucking his head into her shoulder. His bangs fell tenderly against her exposed neck, and she squealed, delightfully tickled. “Just speaking the truth. And nothing but the whole truth to my beautiful girlfriend.”_

_“Alright, alright,” Seulgi chided, but she’s smiling as she said this. “But you can too, you know.”_

_“Then, how about this? Every time I have to jet out for an event, I'd like you to pick out my outfits for me. I have no doubts I’ll start landing the front covers of the tabloids with my impeccable taste.”_

_“Excuse you – ”_

_“Apologies. Slip of the tongue, you know me. I meant, **your** \- impeccable taste.”_)

* * *

That memory seems so distant and far off now, Seulgi thinks with an air of quiet melancholy surrounding her. She shouldn’t be reliving the past, but it’s inevitable – given how reality ravaged her insides with every moment spent, and every word exchanged.

“Yo, Seul,” Jimin calls out, his tone unbearable and brash. Her blurry vision finally comes into focus, and she gives off the slightest recoil when he saunters towards her. Every single step reeks of growing irritation. He crosses his arms against his chest and demands, “What’s up with you?”

Instead of telling him her honest thoughts ( _‘Please don’t snap back at me like that; it makes me feel awful’_ ), she shrugs off the sting with a white lie. Neutral and expressionless.

“Nothing.”

* * *

The first change happens during the start of the new year: On a frigid, chilly January evening after the conclusion of the Seoul Music Awards. She shed the sparkles and the make-up for his oversized hoodie and sweatpants, arriving at the doorstep of their shared quarters with an ice-cream cake from Baskin Robbins and a gigantic smile on her face.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a tousle-haired Jimin, scratching the back of his head with dark, aching circles underneath his eyes. She recognizes that expression very well: It’s him, drowsy and fatigued; craving rest and sleep.

* * *

“So, what’s up?” He asked curiously, embracing her in a one-armed hug. “Did I um, miss a monthiversary?”

“Not at all!” She exclaimed, closing the door behind her. “I just thought it would be nice to congratulate you, and by extension, your group on such wonderful achievements tonight. Jimin- _ah_ , you must be so proud of yourself!”

Jimin’s eyebrow quipped upward as a finger curled underneath his chin. “Wait, what?” He questioned, dismissing her congratulatory words. “But I thought – we were seeing each other tomorrow?”

“Hmm, not according to this, Chim.” Their last text message exchange proved otherwise, she explained as she passed him the chat to read. He scrolled through the log with his finger with a tsk; she busied herself in the kitchen, unable to ignore the growing sense of annoyance gnawing deep within. “Why would you be here anyway?”

“Sorry, Seul,” he replied at last, setting her mobile onto the table. Maybe it’s just her being hypersensitive, but the way he spoke – didn't seem to convey any remorse over his forgetfulness. “I’m just – dead tired, y’know, and I needed a quick place to crash. **This** apartment was closest to the venue. Otherwise, I would’ve gone back to the villa with Ho-Seokkie- _hyung_.”

His wordy explanation did nothing to dispel her displeasure. Still, she whirled around to face him with a forced grin tugged back on her lips, trying to remain understanding. “I know how tired you must be, having to juggle so many things back and forth.” Shrugging her shoulders, she suggested, “So, if you want to do it tomorrow, that’s totally fine by m – “

“I didn’t say that, though. Besides, you’re here **now** , aren’t you?” He interrupted, his words sharp with vexation. So sharp, it forced a choked breath out of her – how could something as harmless as a mere question knock the wind out of her?

Eventually, his eyes soften after casting his gaze upon her seemingly deflated form, and he adds kindly, “I’ll help you with serving the cake. How many slices do you want to have tonight? I think I’m down for two.”

For the remaining duration of the night, Seulgi does her best to remain calm and collected. But try as she might, she simply can’t ignore the way he snapped.

It’s as if – he **wanted** to tell her that she’s a nuisance. That she’s getting in the way of his peace and quiet.

That he wanted to say, ‘Let’s just get this over with’.

* * *

Fortunately, Jimin isn’t as stupid as his public image paints him out to be. Eventually, he detected cold detachment in her behaviour in the few dates that followed. And without even having to confront him, Jimin returned to his jovial and loving self, showering her with praise, souvenirs he picked up during his travels and insurmountable texts full of encouragement and affection when she jetted off to Mexico to film Law of the Jungle.

And that’s why Seulgi initially played this incident off as the honeymoon phase of their relationship finally simmering back down to normalcy.

It’s unrealistic to expect that they’ll be enamoured twenty-four seven, or that she’ll occupy his mind all day. After all, healthy couples in stable relationships will understand that their significant others have their own lives to live, their own personal spaces to respect and their thriving careers to take care of first. Jimin may have lost his temper with her briefly that night, but she convinces herself that it would be the first – and the last. There was probably a good reason behind his outburst. 

Being in the same field, she should’ve _known_ that. How could she have been so absorbed and shallow, thinking so much about _herself_ , _her_ wants and _her_ needs above his? It sickened her that she became so reliant on his attention. And seeing how he was now trying to make it up to her for such a tiny mistake – well, the least she could do is to be more sympathetic towards his predicament. He didn’t ask for the sudden boom in worldwide popularity.

So, she attempted. Very hard. Putting up a brave fight for most of the Summer.

~~(He relapsed. Languidly, slowly, at a snail’s pace. But he did.)~~

She barely said a word when Jimin rushed past her, leaving behind only a messily scrawled note before catching his flight to America for the Billboard Music Awards. She ignored the twinge of annoyance in the pit of her stomach when he left her well wishes of a perfect performance on ‘ _Read_ ’. She excused his online absence for fatigue due to the endless interviews and after parties with the Western artists, because _God_ , she knows how mentally draining those could be. Even when she sees him share a brief update on BTS’ shared Twitter handle, she told herself that it was just all in a day’s work.

But the hurt was undeniably painful – surging through her chest like wildfire – when Jimin completely forgot the day of Red Velvet’s comeback with the Summery, zest-filled Power Up.

* * *

The bubbly, upbeat song released to an outpour of support on August 6th, right at 6 P.M. It instantly awarded Red Velvet with a perfect all-kill, and while Seulgi has always reminded herself to remain humble over their achievements, even she couldn’t help but gush at its performance on the real-time charts. She tracked the position of their title track from her phone, watching it steadily soar within minutes to number one.

“The song is doing surprisingly well,” Joo-Hyun commented, slightly taken aback. Initially, the poised leader wasn’t too keen on serenading their fanbase with fruits (Yet again), making snide complaints about the reoccurring theme that kept reviving every Summer. “I wonder why?”

At that, a beaming Seung-Hwan hip-checked Seulgi, grinning slyly as she made her exit from the practice room. “I believe Lover Boy contributed to that!”

Ye-Rim smirked, peeking from behind her phone smugly. “I concur.”

“ _Yah_ , you guys!”

But it’s not like there wasn’t a semblance of truth to their words, either. It _was_ very much like him to put their music videos and songs on repeat; he did that for Peek-A-Boo and Red Flavour, complimenting their trance-like melodies and dancing along with glee. At first, Seulgi reprimanded him (Lightly so) for it – claiming it as unfair to other contenders who worked just as hard as them – but eventually, she, too, gave in.

Not much she could retaliate with when he said: _“It’s not cheating if it’s your boyfriend who does it Supporting my girlfriend is commonplace!”_?

“He hasn’t said anything yet though – “

“So what? He’s your boyfriend! I’m sure he’s just doing it to surprise you!” Soo-Young urged, pushing a somewhat reluctant Seulgi out the door and into the secluded emergency exit stairwell. “Just tell him to keep it up and that he has to stay up all night to keep our ranking at number one if he wants to win some brownie points!”

And so, she did. Her fingers dialed the number she had etched into the back of her mind fluidly, and she waited for the ongoing drone of the dial tone to cease when –

Six rings. He picked up, stifling an exhausted yawn as he greeted her hello. 

“Oh, Jimin- _ah_!” Seulgi exclaimed, clutching her mobile excitedly. “It’s me. Seul. I’m sure you’re busy right now, but thanks for picking up my call.”

That childish eagerness in her voice sounds so damned foolish because clearly, he wasn’t in the best mood to entertain her happiness. Over the buzzing static, he launched a scathing retort at her.

“Yes, I can tell. Hi. What is it?” 

An eerie sense of déjà vu swarmed over her, penetrating deep into her bones as her hand wrapped around the mobile tightly. This feeling – so uncanny; it’s like she's living through that one January evening all over again.

Bracing herself for his answer, she asked, maintaining a well-presented façade of lightheartedness, “W-well, I’m sorry about that. But, I just wanted to know um – “ Her knuckles were stark-white as she swallowed the lump in her throat to ask, “So, did you watch it?”

His answer left her devastatingly heartbroken.

“Seul.” Even with her eyes closed, she heard it. A heavy-hearted sigh, bordering on irritation. “You need to be more specific.” A sharp-tipped _tsk_ that she recognized as annoyance. “How do you expect me to answer your questions when you’re so damn vague?”

To which, she harbored a question of her own: How does she even _respond_ to something like that?

“I don’t have all **day** , Seul,” Jimin chagrinned, breaking the stilted silence.

“You know what? Never mind,” Seulgi muttered at last, her thumb hovering lightly over ‘End Call’ as the remaining colour drained out of her face. “You’ll see it later, I’m sure.”

* * *

Seulgi shouldn’t have set her expectations so high. Later, as it turns out, was not immediate. Instead, it became a synonym for _ninety-six hours_ later.

 _Four_ days later.

Her insides grew icy as she thumbed over their message chat log. And whilst she managed to brave through her comeback stage with her trademark cheery pep, the hostility in his cold words couldn’t be ignored upon returning to the dressing room.

_From: Chim_   
_Sent At: 11:23 P.M._

_I like it. It’s cute. You and the girls look gorgeous. I hope it does well on the charts._

The contrast between then and now, 2017 versus 2018 – it’s too, _too vast_.

* * *

When early December hits, things seem to crumble faster than ever.

It’s not the lack of time together that is straining their relationship like a rubber elastic stretched out to its limits. Rather, it’s a _someone_.

Seulgi could’ve lived out the rest of her life comfortably had she not curiously clicked on some of the hot-hitting Pann posts circulating through the web that very evening –

But maybe it was in her best interests that she stumbled upon the blurry clip unknowingly, witnessing the scene with her own eyes.

* * *

Unlike the overly enthusiastic and animated Jung Ho-Seok, Jimin wasn’t the type to express his enjoyment for other idols’ performances. Initially, she was _very_ affronted to see her supposedly number one supporter – _expressionless_. Pokerfaced. What gives?

It wasn’t until much later – after a tub of her favourite ice-cream and many hugs – that he explained his reasoning to her.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to, Seul,” Jimin said to soothe her disgruntled self. “I just don’t want crazy, stupid rumours to spread. Trust me. If I bobbed my head to one of TWICE’s title tracks, a simple reaction like that would actually light a fire of ‘ _Oh, Jimin must like TWICE!_ ’ Or _‘Oh, Jimin smiled when Ji-Hyo sang her line! They must be dating!’_ ”

Eventually, the conversation ended with an empty tub, their sweaty bodies entwined within the silk bedsheets and Seulgi poking fun at his mysterious ability to accurately imitate a woman’s voice.

(Jimin rolled over to his side, flushed and huffy. “Oh, shut **_up_**.”)

Playfulness aside, Seulgi did understand the severity of the situation. With millions of eyes watching their every move, it’s no question that one tiny slip-up would grant them a one-way ticket onto the front page of Dispatch and the titles of ridiculous news bulletins that carried no credibility. Just look at what happened between Jung-Kook and GFriend’s Eun-Ha – all because he played her song on a scheduled V Live.

So, Seulgi didn’t question it. She grew accustomed to civil greetings and respectful acknowledgments, mastering the nonchalant poker face when placed in the public eye.

But when she watched the clip in the privacy of the bathroom in her dormitory, she can’t help but nitpick the comparisons in how he looked at her, and how he looked at _them_.

Them, being, BLACKPINK’s Kim Ji-Soo and Kim Jennie. Tantalizingly seductive and alluring in their own unique ways, with kind-hearted personalities to boot. The so-called ‘It Girls’ of 2018. 

(Joo-Hyun deserves that title, too, obviously. But what is _Seulgi_ in comparison to them?

 ~~Nothing~~.)

Two months prior, Red Velvet and BTS had shared a stage at the Korean Popular Culture and Arts Awards. And just like always, BTS had passed them by upon the commencement of the ceremony with tight-lipped smiles. Jimin spared one second to quietly murmur a phlegmatic ‘Good job’, but his eyes were dull, placid.

Seulgi thought nothing of it – until this very moment.

She watched the clip. Once, twice and thrice. And then replayed it again and again. There’s no doubting it; that’s him – her boyfriend; Park Jimin – leaning forward within earshot of Ji-Soo and Jennie, to mutter something to them with a charming smile on his face.

So much livelier. So much more energetic.

 _Why is that?_ Seulgi thought to herself with trembling hands, closing the browser after having her racing train of thought disrupted by a loud, presumptuous knock on the door.

Seulgi may have been full of unanswered questions, but there was one thing that she was certain of. 

Jealousy is ugly. _Extremely_ ugly. And to assume the worst of her partner over a thirty-second clip was definitely something that she didn’t want to fall to – but, would she be having these problems if there weren’t signs showing Jimin’s heart slowly leaving hers?

* * *

Back in the present day, a thudding _slam_ echoes throughout the apartment, bringing Seulgi out of her stupor. Jimin’s zipping up his suitcase, presumably done with his clothing selection with a grim smile on his face. But there’s too much suppressed negativity building up inside Seulgi’s chest that needs proper resolution.

Now, more than ever.

So, she uncrosses her legs on the couch, dragging her numb limbs pitifully behind her to reach him. “Jimin. We can talk, right?”

“I don’t have much time for chatter now, but definitely when I come back if it’s still on your thoughts.”

“Eh? You’re leaving?” She questions in disbelief. “But I thought your flight wasn’t until tom – “

“Tomorrow, I know,” Jimin interrupts briskly. Seulgi has no intention of stopping him when it came to work-related matters, but a part of her wishfully hopes that he’ll change his mind – even though she knows wordless whispers are absolutely futile. “But the manager doesn’t want to swing by all the way here just for the sake of picking me up and then having to rush back into _Cheongdam_ to fetch the others. It’s just more rational for me to stay at the villa.”

Seulgi says nothing, and Jimin takes this as a silent affirmation. Pulling his snapback tightly over his hair, he tosses her a nod and says, “See you when I get back, Seul. It won’t take long.”

Something – a phantasmal force of some sort – takes over her being. With her sweaty hands clasped together, she blurts out, “Um, Jimin, just one question.”

“He’s _outside_ , Seul.” She hopes it’s the trick of the light – not that he actually rolled her eyes at her. “Is this import – ?”

And the words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “Do you love me?“ 

The question, simple as it may be, catches him off-guard. His hurried footsteps slow to a full stop, and hesitation hovers thick and heavy within the small space. It’s so potent, almost to the point of suffocating. She counts – one, two, three, four, five. How does it take so long for him to answer?

At last, he whirls around to reply.

“Of course, I do, Seul.”

Dragging his hand-carry behind him with one hand, Jimin presses the other against her cheek and pats gently. “Sweetheart. Don’t overthink.”

And with that, he exits the doorway. The squeaky wheels screech behind him until she could no longer hear it. She closes her eyes, collapsing onto the couch, weak-kneed. It doesn’t take long for them to turn bloodshot.

Supposedly, Seulgi should have no reason to find that answer hard to believe.

Yet, even with his verbal confirmation, there’s a part of her that greedily, desperately demands:

 _Tell me that._ **_Show_** _me that. Show me that we’ll be okay._

* * *

25.

Seulgi is twenty-five when it happens. And it sucks. It’s awful. It’s _fucking_ awful that of all days it had to occur, it just had to be on her damn _birthday_.

* * *

The day started off perfect.

Seulgi woke up at ten o’clock – a luxury that she couldn’t afford in the past – to Ye-Rim and Soo-Young, jumping crazily atop her mattress with ecstatic shouts of happy birthday and well wishes. Joo-Hyun entered her room soon after, clutching a steaming bowl of warm seaweed soup to feed her in bed. Seung-Hwan presented her with a handwritten card that moved her to tears.

“We love you very much, Seulgi!” Their voices chorused. “We hope you remember that!”

It's a good reminder. One that she needs more than ever. Times like these are far and few now (Especially given her growing reservations over Jimin and their unresolved issues), but today, Seulgi actually manages to reciprocate her members’ love with newfound energy and happiness. Seung-Hwan's right. She managed to hit quarter-life: An age that she’s so fortunate to have reached. Many others did not have that same privilege. 

Unlike Joo-Hyun, who broke out into an uncharacteristic hysteric that she wasn’t achieving as much when she turned twenty-five, Seulgi finds it gratifying to have made it so far without any significant hiccups along the way. There’s just so much for her to look forward to in the present, and in the future.

Despite whatever lingering thoughts she held about Jimin, they seemed to dissipate upon swiping her phone to read the message notification.

_From: Chim_   
_Sent At: 10:02 A.M._   
  
_Happy birthday! Let’s celebrate?_

They agreed on two o’clock, which was just enough time for Seulgi to get herself ready. On a day that she had worked so ostensibly hard to slip out of her planned schedules, it’s so surprising that Jimin would reciprocate with the same efforts – escaping from the clutches of Kim Nam-Joon and Boy with Luv remixes – just to be with her.

(Jesus, he’s falling so short of expectations. How badly is he doing as a boyfriend that something so silly and small would make her face alight with a smile?) 

Joo-Hyun lent her a strapless navy-blue one-piece, and Ye-Rim let her swipe on that beautiful shade of mahogany-coloured lipstick from her new collection Seulgi had been eyeing. Adding Seung-Hwan's encouragement and Soo-Young flirtatiously crooning that she’d snatch her up right away if Jimin didn’t get a move on, Seulgi clambered into the car with a poised sense of self-confidence.

“Leave him floored, girl! And tell us all the nasty details later!”

She arrived first, doing final check-ups on the eyeshadow and mascara before seating herself on the couch in anticipation.

Two o’clock, however, eventually became three. She assumed he was running late, so she texted him a cheeky reminder that he had nine more hours left to make it up to her.

Then, three turned to five. Seulgi’s stomach began to grumble, and she had half the mind to order _jjajangmyeon_ for herself.

And eventually, five gave way to eleven forty-five. She drifted off to a soundless sleep, waking to peer at the alarm clock with bleary eyes. Eleven fifty-four. Her heart sank. 

**_BANG._ **

And right on cue, Jimin barged into the parlour right as the clock struck eleven fifty-five, breathless, attire drenched and his face slick with a shiny sheen of sweat. The powerful stench of skin salt penetrated through the room like a muggy fog. There was a bouquet of fuchsia-tinted roses in one hand, and a beautifully-wrapped gift in the other.

Seulgi doesn’t mean to rudely compare, but that did not look a thing like Jimin’s handiwork. Not at all. She notes the intricacy of the folding technique; she saw that somewhere in the past. Didn't Joo-Hyun bring home a similarly-wrapped package last year on Valentine's Day?

It hits her right now. It's Seok-Jin.

She sighs. Yes, it’s **most definitely** Seok-Jin. What is he trying to do, take her for a fucking _fool_?

At the very least, he did manage to show up, Seulgi thinks. Nine hours late, but that alone wasn’t enough to console the disappointment bubbling away inside.

One day. That’s all she really yearned for. Is that **too** difficult for the betrothed idol to satisfy? 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he greets in a huff, pressing his ice-cold lips against her cheek. The prickle startles her out of her train of thoughts, but he didn’t seem to take any notice. Not on the new shade she swiped on for the occasion. Not on the elegant dress that she donned on.

_Nothing._

Seulgi refuses to relax into his touch. Instead, she swallows the lump in her throat and – in a moment of weakness – jerks a frustrated elbow into his ribcage and says flatly, “Well, **you** must be tired.”

God, it feels so awfully _good_ to be this passive-aggressive for once.

A brief pause lingers in the air, with Jimin keeping his mouth closed firm. She hears a deep breath getting sucked in, and then exhaled. Like her, his patience was running thin tonight. “To be honest – yeah, I am,” he admits, his back turned towards her. “But I mean, come on. You only turn twenty-five once. Let’s end your day on a positive note.”

To which she laughs, the sound completely void of humour, “Jimin, there’s only _five minutes left_. What else _can_ we even do?”

A thunderous **_CRASH_** forces her to get to her feet. She glances at him, his eyes set in a furious blaze with a shattered porcelain plate in the sink basin.

“Look, Seulgi.” This version of him. Anytime he resurfaces, the distance separating between she and him seems so much greater. He’s so alien, so foreign. And too exasperated, too emotionally tried to deal with her bullshit. “Do you honestly think it was my fault that I was late to come see you? You think **I** asked for that?!”

The worst part is, it doesn’t just stop there. He continues his raging tirade, shouting himself hoarse about unrealistic expectations that he couldn’t fulfill, of pressures that were finally breaking him into a delirious hysteric –

“And to have **you** ,” he shrieks ballistically, pointing the fault back at her. “The only good thing that I can count on for moral support, to lash out at me for something that I can’t control? Jesus, Seulgi, I’m truly spreading myself thin here.” Jimin collapses into a nearby chair, with his sweaty palms entangling within the wispy strands of his hair. “I don‘t know what else I can **do**.” 

Suffice to say, Seulgi is shell-shocked. At him. At everything said and exchanged.

But there’s a difference from today versus other days.

Today, she doesn’t feel guilt swarming over her as it had in the past. Maybe it’s because she firmly believes that she’s entitled to do whatever she pleases on her special day. Maybe, it’s the last bits of her patience, finally worn down and hanging only by a single thread.

Or perhaps, it’s just her, realizing at last that he only saw her as an obligation, a means – not as a lifelong partner.

So, Seulgi doesn’t blame the stress. Or the choreography. Or on Jimin’s own sense of perfectionism that she remained solidly intact. Or on damn- _fucking_ -BigHit for putting them through month-long tours that seemed to have no end.

For once, she does not provide him with an excuse. Seulgi doesn’t want to masquerade as the sweet, submissive girlfriend any longer.

Instead, she finds it perfectly acceptable to – _shout back_.

“Stop pointing fingers at me,” she snarls. “I’ve been so, so incredibly patient, and all you have to say for that is an accusation that I’m still not doing my best. That I’m not being understanding enough for you. That I’m selfish. That’s all I’m hearing, and do you honestly think – that this doesn’t hurt me, either? To see you like this? To see you slowly change over these past two years? Jimin, I don’t even feel like I know you anymore. Y-you...” Her eyes cloud into a hazy mist. _Say it. Tell him._

“You’re not the same person that I fell in love with back then.”

Jimin doesn’t take her words acceptingly. Instead, he saunters towards her, seething furiously, “Don’t play that fucking bullshit with me, Kang Seulgi. What the hell are you babbling about?! If anybody has changed, it’s **_you_**!”

“I’m the source of the problem?!” Seulgi screams, thunderstruck. “How could you even say that?!”

Back and forth, back and forth. It doesn’t seem to end. They continue to fling insults at each other, fighting to the death with vicious words that they would never be able to take back.

At one point in the escalating confrontation, Jimin strikes a nerve. Seulgi doesn’t quite recall his exact words, but it was definitely something about being needy, about how BLACKPINK’s Ji-Soo would never behave like this.

It ignites a livid fire in her, taking complete control of her limbs.

And without warning, her palm raises into the air and collides with his cheek. 

Time seems to slow to a halt once the deafeningly sharp smack resounds through the air like a gunshot being fired from a rifle, but upon realizing what she’s done, Seulgi immediately puffs out a dumbfounded breath of despair. What happened to all the lessons that her parents passed on to her back then? Always, always, always remain kind. Never lose complete self-composure. Never raise a finger at another person. Never depend on violence to get your points across.

But in circumstances like these – with tempers running high, and Park Jimin nonchalantly brushing off her dread that their relationship was falling to shambles, she could no longer stand his aloofness or his detachment.

The wall clock continues its orbit in a rhythmic _tick-tick-tick_. Even with five minutes of a staggering silence standing between them, Seulgi can’t find the words to mutter an apology, dumbfounded at her actions, at _herself_ : At her palm and the skin, blotched in a painful, stinging shade of red.

Jimin’s expression, flabbergasted, mimic hers. Except, there’s no resentment piercing through his irises.

Only hurt.

The excuses soon come blubbering out like a raging waterfall. “J-Jimin, I – I didn’t mean to do that. Jimin- _ah_ , I – “

He holds up a palm in front of her. “No, Seulgi, I – “ Still too shaken up to formulate a proper reply, Jimin clamps down on his lower lip – almost as if he wanted to keep himself from screaming ruthlessly at her. A little bit too late for that, she thinks. His teeth cut through the dry skin, leaving behind a tiny drop of blood that trickles nauseatingly slow through the slit.

“I um,” Jimin struggles, dazed. “H-happy birthday, I-I guess.” He brushes past her, the gift left abandoned and forgotten. 

“A-and you’re still leaving?” She twists around in disbelief.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, refusing to look at her any longer. He runs his hand through his hair, yanking at it here and there – an action that betrayed all of his innermost feelings: Nervousness, awkwardness; spoke of a boy, no longer wanting to be there. Wanting nothing more than to escape. “W-we’ll talk later.”

(Here’s the thing.

They don't.)

* * *

“The person you are trying to reach is currently – “

For every single time Seulgi hears this mantra repeated, she records this message to accompany it.

“Please, Jimin. I know that - there are some things we need to resolve. So, please, call me. W-we need to talk."

For the week that follows the dismal disaster that made up her birthday, Seulgi bravely stays at the shared apartment in hopes that Jimin would somehow, in some way, return.

But every single time she finally manages to close her eyes for some much-needed sleep, dreaming of light caresses and warm smiles to tell her that everything would be alright, they would burst open to a morbid reality.

This is the cycle she painfully subjects herself to. Sleeping in an empty bed, waking up to stare at a fucking ghastly reflection, attending practice the next day as if everything were still the same, smiling painfully through the questions and inquiries from her curious members.

Two weeks pass. There's no point in lamenting over this, Seulgi thinks to herself as she scrolls through the chat log with her finger. Honestly, she should practice for Zimzalabim instead of wasting her time on this - 

But then, it happens. 

It's a late evening - inching towards midnight - when a nauseating sensation takes over her stomach, her chest. Almost as if there was a balloon growing inside, filling to full capacity and waiting for the opportunity to explode inside. Something huge seems to be crawling up her throat, sending goosebumps up and down her spine. What _was_ this? Was it a bug? No, it can't be. But then again, vomit didn't travel this slowly now, did it?

Seulgi instinctively clamps a hand over her mouth, tossing the blanket aside and hurries into the washroom to cough out whatever obstruction was clogging the passage. Upon having a taste, her expression immediately morphs into one of disgust.

It tastes - weirdly familiar. Like alkaline, or a rancid battery intermingled with hints of a metallic-tasting syrup. 

Seulgi finally manages to puke out the mysterious object after a few minutes of nearly choking to death. She glances at her hand, taking in the strange shape.

Five wilted curls, a bunch of filaments sticking out - speckled in _crimson_.

* * *

It’s also at twenty-five that Seulgi coughed up her first bloodied lily.

And it was then, she felt her heart shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how in the song Psycho, they sing, "Hey now, we'll be okay"? This is the feeling that I wanted to portray in this chapter - with Seulgi, giving Jimin excuses upon excuses, just to maintain this image that, yes, everything's okay and that they're okay. Just because she loves him too, too much that she would be so willing to evade the truth. 
> 
> (Oh, my God. This is so sad LOL.) 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed; see you in the finale! :3


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so comes, the bitter end of Seulgi's story. :c It's going to be a bit of a rough ride (Even for me, because as the writer, I don't really do angst well and to have to write a conclusion like that. Well, LOL) 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Song Recommendations:
> 
> [Kwon Jin-Ah - The End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IL7L4RPr6OQ)  
> [BTS - Hold Me Tight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SX9zIOVClrk)

25.

Seulgi starts to keep a tab of each occasion, or near-occasion when the flowers start to spring up for the month that follows. It’s more prevalent when she’s sitting in the dust-filled apartment, alone and vulnerable to her thoughts. In those instances, she’ll experience that same sensation prickling within her lungs – often, it leads to her throwing up an entire blossom.

She scoured through the search engines endlessly, but everything she came across sounded so incredibly outlandish. Like a reoccurring plot device in romantic tragedies, they called this disease _‘Hanahaki’_. The name is fitting, but there’s much mystery shrouding this disorder due to its low occurrence, afflicting only one in every fifty-million.

One case of a dying love out of the many others around the world; how fortunate that it _just_ so happens to be her. 

Still, Seulgi decides to keep this a secret, dismissing her symptoms as nothing to worry about. Because sometimes, that lingering pressure in her chest will lighten, to which she’ll say, maybe he’s thinking of her, of how she’s doing? And sometimes, she’ll find her breaths a bit more bearable. A little easier to take in. And she’ll relish in fantasy, of lonely nights where he still calls out her name during periods of restlessness, scrolling through their pictures upon awakening and letting a smile escape. Reminiscing over what they once were.

Naïve, lukewarm hope swarms through her being; perhaps – there _can_ be a way to fix this.

* * *

Seulgi hasn’t stepped a single foot into the dormitory ever since; she hasn’t slept in that tiny cramped storage closet that she calls a cozy room, choosing to remain alone without disclosing too many details. Her members wholeheartedly protest that she ought to return ("You can't stay with Jimin forever! What about us? We crave your presence, too!"), but Seulgi doesn’t need her teammates worrying their pretty heads over her.

Plus, she didn't need them to catch her throwing bloodied tissues in secret when she could hack out her lungs as loudly as she wanted in absolute solitude.

Her panicked voicemails start to slow down. Once a day becomes once every three days. The wearisome heaviness settles deeper within her ribcage. She wondered about him, what he was doing to occupy the time – complaining to Ji-Soo about her incompetence as a girlfriend? The aching pang hit her hard at the thought, and goodness knows how she managed to catch sleep when she found herself tasting blood in every crevice and corner of her mouth.

Three text messages a day turns to one every four days. And finally, she catches a sign of life: The ‘Read’ receipt popped up in their chat log. That night, Seulgi drifted off into a peaceful slumber without any urges to suddenly throw up. 

And then, at last, the next day, Jimin responded. It’s curt. Almost monosyllabic, but she’ll take an answer over radio silence.

_From: Chim_   
_Sent At: 8:13 A.M._

_Okay. Let’s talk._

* * *

Seulgi doesn’t remember all of the tiny details of their conversation, mainly bits and pieces of it: An apology for dropping in late, but _no_ remorse whatsoever for launching a verbal assault against her outrage; an explanation (Does she need to justify her actions, though? What else was he expecting?) as to why she behaved the way she did. He responded with nothing but a slightly raised eyebrow and a tensed jawline.

As if, he was displeased. Seulgi has never felt smaller.

She remembered how eerily depressing the atmosphere was, too, descending upon them heavily. They were sitting – not together, not slouched over one another like before – on opposite ends of the dining table. His hands folded into a nervous bundle on his lap, while she drummed hers against the glass.

And finally, she remembered asking him this one question.

“Do you even _want_ to fix this?”

Heavy silence penetrated through the air, smothering them in an uncomfortable smog. For a moment, Seulgi braced herself as she watched him twitch uncomfortably in his seat. Squeezing his hands until they looked ready to burst. She prayed that she won’t purge the bloodied flowers in his presence. 

At last, Jimin replied. His eyes were leveled and impassive as he muttered one word.

Void of hope. Burdened with defeat. 

“How?”

* * *

Seulgi wasn’t confident that they would ever come to a proper resolution, but during those abrupt pauses of quietude where they could hear nothing but their thoughts, there were rare occurrences where, upon meeting his gaze, things felt – less impeding.

She could find her lungs sucking in the oxygen better, allowing her a chance to breathe easier, even if it was only for a few seconds.

She wondered if they were sharing similar thoughts.

Perhaps, like she, he was reminiscing about their shared moments of peace, where she would lay in his arms and sing a soft, tender lullaby to lull him to sleep. Or, maybe he was thinking back to simpler times, where they would playfully squabble over petty, insignificant things – like, who was responsible for loading the dishwasher that night, which inevitably lead to, ‘ _Jimin, how did cleaning up our plates turn into countertop sex? You’re absolutely ridiculous!’_ Or maybe, he’s taking a trip down memory lane of the innumerable times where they held hands, where she kissed him with an ardent fervor that left him breathless, dazzled and shining all at once. 

There’s a smile, weak as it is, that lights up his face. And then, it breaks down into a bemused laugh.

Underneath it all, they were simply two silly people, helplessly infatuated, seeking comfort in each other’s presence in a place that clearly forbids it. And in a time of heightened tensions, when the easiest solution would be to give up, here _she_ is, trying her damned hardest to preserve their love – because _she_ believes that they still have something worth fighting for.

And that can’t happen unless _she_ , watching him in an earnest and impassioned manner, believes in him, too.

His throat clenched tightly as he languidly raised his hand to fold it over Seulgi’s. Hesitant, but warming, nonetheless. Despite it all, the residual feelings of affection _are_ there, manifesting as a weak thrum within his chest. It’s not easy, finding a relationship like this. And with a _girl_ as dedicated as she: He’s incredibly lucky. People like her don’t come around every so often.

And so –

Jimin nodded. At first, she didn’t detect the slight tip of his head. But then, he repeated it, much more apparent.

“Alright.”

* * *

They agreed to try. One more time. They vowed to work out the problems in their relationship, mend the wounds that they’ve left on one another. Jimin will learn to control his temper, try to be a better boyfriend and partner and hopefully, emerge from this incident as a changed man.

He’ll work to be better.

But as for Seulgi, well, she’s already done the best that she could for that one year. She apologized to him, because nobody deserves to be slapped in the face. She’s certain that her graze – the skin now nicked with a permanent blemish – had left a lasting negative impression on him. It’s a regrettable action that will continue to haunt her for as long as she lived.

Still, she forced herself to remain firm. She warned him, slightly apprehensive, “I just can’t do any better for you, Jimin. I’m emotionally _spent_.” 

It’s been a long while since he’s taken her words so acceptingly. Without any further retaliation, he lowered his head in apology and sighed. “I know. I know that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, forward and backward, before he took hold of her hand once again. “And I can only hope to make it up to you in a way that will show you that I still care about you.”

One sentence. One sentence and that's all it took for Seulgi to collapse feebly into his arms. Jimin wrapped them around her small frame. Tightly so. 

No more words are said as her hands danced against his shoulders, roaming down his arms and underneath the thin t-shirt. A guttural, feral groan escaped his throat as his dexterous fingers made light work on the buttons of her blouse, the buckle of her belt –

Soon enough, they sank into perfect harmony as he thrust into her, her legs twinning over his hips to keep him close. Moving in a recognizable tempo that Seulgi has long missed and craved, scraping her blunted nails across his back. While she knew it was stupid to grow sentimental from such a simple act – making love after a horrendous fight, as if pleasure would be enough to take over the emotional pain that plunged into her heart just days before – the crystalline tears prickling at the corners of her eyes were unavoidable as he whispered intimately into her ear, “Oh, Seul. I’m such a fool.”

“W-what?”

He grunted, cradling her sweaty cheek with one hand whilst the other grasped at the quivering headboard. “How I could – _ever_ overlook you. There’s nobody else. Nobody else, _but you_.” 

In a passionate kiss that left her lips bleeding and back arching into his form, she pulled him in tighter, hoping to convey the message that she believed him.

Needless to say, she slept soundly that night, wrapped in his gentle embrace. When she awoke the next morning, she’s surprised that the regular splatter of blood she’s grown accustomed to – was actually absent. In place was a defined arm laying across her waist in a protective hold. Traces of sleepiness was still evident in his voice as he coaxed her to stay in bed just a little longer. Seulgi obliged, smiling. 

That was how things should be.

Her façade of a strong, independent woman with an iron will is merely casual bravado. At the end of it all, there's just no way that she could ever hold a grudge, much less against the person who was her first love.

* * *

The problem is, a relationship as volatile as theirs isn’t something that they can easily recover from. In a way, it resembles a broken centerpiece. 

Because no matter _how_ much glue they apply, _how_ much effort they put into fixing it to make it appear pretty to others, the damage has already been done. The integrity of the porcelain is no longer what it used to be.

Crevices and cracks are evident. Fissures and fractures continue to spread. It’s only a matter of time before it shatters again.

* * *

And that’s exactly what happens. Why Seulgi had expected so much more, she’s not even sure, anymore. They share a limited number of pleasant days, yes, but for the most part, nothing else has changed. She’s trapped in a never-ending loop, set specifically for her twenty-fourth year, reliving through moments where she’s repeating points brought up many months prior – 

( _“I told you already, didn’t I? I said that I’d get to your messages as soon as I could. I can’t change time zones with a snap of my fingers just because **you** request them, Seul.”_

_“But Jimin, it’s not just – “_

_“Not just that? Sure, Seulgi. And then the next time this happens, you’re going to call me out for caring more about my fanbase than I do for you. You know that isn’t the case. I’m doing my best to put you first.”_ )

Where commitments and vows of change are revoked almost four months in –

_(“You need to be patient with me, Jimin. I know we said we would work it out, and this is one of them. But understand that I need some time too – ”_

_“Please. Seulgi. **Stop**. Stop it with this nonsense.”)_

Where exchanges of ‘I love you’ that was prevalent in the first half of the year slowly dwindles in number, becoming a rare occasion – 

( _“See you later.”_

 _“...Yeah. Bye.”_ )

Where reoccurring issues of trust are brushed under the rug, leaving her paranoid, almost bordering on psychotic, forcing her to confront him on where his loyalties lie –

( _“Oh, I didn’t know that – you had Ji-Soo's number.”_

_“Seulgi, are you going to question me on that, too?”_

_“Well, no. It’s just – “_

_“I’m sure you have platonic male friends as well. Besides, why are you looking at my phone in the first place? Don’t you have other things to do?”)_

And come to think of it, was there any point in time during the final quarter of the year where their conversations didn’t intensify into full-blown shouting matches?

No, she realizes. Not really.

* * *

Eventually, Red Velvet makes their long-awaited return to the Korean pop scene with the hauntingly regal concept of Psycho. After the idiosyncratic Zimzalabim and the catchy Umpah-Umpah, it’s refreshing to return to their sultrier side. This time, though, it’s not the melody nor the choreography that designates this as Seulgi’s favourite song. Rather, it’s the lyrics, speaking to her heart.

Never has she felt more attuned to the words that she sings: A deranged, insane relationship – where the two individuals are cycling through the repetitive stages of fighting and making up, putting them in a crazed state because they truly believe that _‘we’ll be okay’_.

No. They’re anything _but_ okay.

Frankly, Seulgi wishes she didn't feel so much, because eventually, the flowers start to make their return.

First, in the form of scattered petals from July onwards.

Then, full-bodied blossoms in late September.

And finally, clusters of withered filaments, weeds, and fronds by mid-October.

(And to think that she initially believed that they could’ve repaired whatever thorns were impeding their relationship.

 _Oh, how wrong she was._ ) 

* * *

26.

Park Jimin throws in the red flag first. It’s a miracle that they managed to hang on for so long.

They’ve tried. And tried again. But it can’t be ignored; this growing sense of inadequacy, this inferiority, and the very fact that they’re not helping each other thrive or grow. Rather, they’re behaving like potent toxins, slowly poisoning each other to no end. He can’t fulfill what she wants; she can’t overlook his decisions and his behaviour.

(As they say, if it happens the first time, it’s a mistake. If it happens the second time, it’s a choice.)

Unlike the cynically hopeful lyrics in Psycho, there’s actually nothing beautiful about a dying relationship. When the only passions emerge during needless fights over everything and anything, Seulgi knows: It _has_ to end before either party experiences greater hurt.

Fortunately, Jimin still has some decency to wait patiently for the chaotic mess that ensued during the year-end to cool down before initiating the long-awaited conversation that she has painfully dreaded. How thoughtful of him to remember her close friendship with Seung-Hwan, Seulgi thinks scornfully to herself, trudging through the melting slush to meet him just a few weeks after. At least he spared her unnecessary heartbreak while she made her treks to the hospital to care for her friend.

There’s an unrecognizable look in his eyes when he hops off the bench upon sensing her presence. He tosses her a curt nod. “Hey Seulgi. I’m glad you made it.”

Seulgi doesn’t reply. She finds herself too enraptured by the scenery before her. She recognizes this: The tranquil lagoon; the lush forest of evergreen trees, dusted in white powder. Something about it triggers a faint memory in the back of her mind. 

_Hang on._ This was the same park where she and he had shared their first kiss –

“I want this to end amicably.” Jimin takes in a breath. Slow and steady. “Seulgi, you understand why this needs to happen, right? We – we're just not _right_ for one another.” 

He didn’t need to say much more, because she knows that this is where they will officially part. Three years later.

Three years, huh? Close to one-thousand and one-hundred day: Half of which were spent in pure bliss and happiness; half of which were spent in agony. How funny. Couples generally lose their spark and chemistry at the five-year mark, didn’t they?

It seems they’ve fallen short of expectations.

Seulgi’s at a loss for words; she knew this was coming, but to be hit with his blunt words feels – so _surreal_. Instead, she sits, her face buried deep into her palms. Jimin watches the sight unfold, biting his lip as he hesitantly raises his hand into the air. It’s the least he can do for her, can’t he? He places it against her heaving back for a few drawn-out moments; she’s not resisting.

Jimin traces imperceptibly delicate motions against her body to soothe her – something he routinely did to console her troubles and woes – and mumbles one last thing.

“I’m truly sorry for everything.”

* * *

Generally, her members are not gossip mongers. Relentless mockery and teasing aside, they were not the types to question her personal affairs and left her be. Seulgi appreciates the privacy, but granted, she _did_ share a good fifth of her life with these girls. When she returned to the dormitory later that night, they picked up on the abnormalities in her behaviour straight away.

“So,” Joo-Hyun begins stiffly. “How did it go?”

Two pairs of feet storm in swiftly from behind. It’s Ye-Rim and Soo-Young, with dark bags underneath their eyes, watching her with concern.

“Ah.” Her voice sounds so hollow. Almost empty. “Well, what can I say? We didn’t work out, so we broke up.”

She says nothing of their previous fights. Says nothing about that one incident where her palm smacked his cheek. Says nothing about the growing discomfort that’s been plaguing her chest tenaciously. In typical _Seulgi-esque_ fashion, she braves through their stern gazes with a melancholic grimace and tells them, “It naturally happens to the best of us.”

“ _Unni_ , do you need anything?”

“No, Rim. I’m okay, but if you need me, I’ll be in my room.”

Indeed, break-ups _do_ happen, she laments to herself as she locks the door shut. But break-ups shouldn’t leave her body freezing, or have her lungs wheezing pathetically, gasping for air –

Or, blanket her bedsheets in a horrifying waterfall of blood. 

She can’t deny it any longer. The _Hanahaki_ is getting worse with each passing day.

(And she’s _still_ ignoring the signs that her weakening body is telling her. Christ.)

* * *

Kind-hearted and sympathetic as her members may be to offer her their utmost support in a time of need, Seulgi adamantly insists that she’s doing ‘ _okay_ ’.

Of course, that’s all just lip service. Is she, actually? Obviously not. It’s only been three months after what happened, after all.

Within that time frame, they managed to put up the apartment for sale, vacate the place of their belongings and sort through their items to determine what they wanted to keep and toss away. She doesn’t know what happened to the gifts that she’s prepared for him, but she kept all of his letters, his photos and stored them away for safekeeping.

Pathetic, she knows, but they serve as a final memento for her. A reminder that they once shared something precious.

Still, Seulgi’s aware that she cannot remain this heartbroken and lovesick fool for much longer. Before everything, she’s an idol first. She’s classified as a respectable senior now, but even with that title and the privilege of having a large group of supporters to defend her, she can’t show her signs of weakness when the performers' persona is called forth. The audience won't spare her the briefest moment to let her wallow in her sorrows; they would never spare her the least bit of breathing room to show negativity.

Not that she has much nowadays.

So, she braces herself.

She prepares herself for the worst-case scenario, tucking tissues into inconspicuous, concealed places where her stage outfit would allow (Why didn't skirts come with zipped pockets nowadays?)

She mentally calculates the swiftest, quickest pathways to the washrooms, because the last thing she would need is a sanguinary display during the special stage they've prepared for The Fact Music Awards. It's a ballet performance - light and delicate - that narrates the chilling tale of Psycho, with Seulgi chosen as the main dancer and her accompanying danseur a member from the prestigious Korean National Ballet.

She's worked endlessly for this, entering the studio just before the sun emerged and leaving with the skies pitch-black. But if she's being completely honest with herself, it's not _just_ the tumultuous pressures of landing the difficult grand jeté that has her worried.

Rather, it's because it'll be the first time in nearly ninety days that she'll be meeting Park Jimin once again.

* * *

Seulgi accidentally bumps into him when she’s on her way to the washroom to clear her mouth of the residual blood. She was coughing up quite a bit more than usual; she wonders whether the symptoms worsened from the lingering fear swimming through her veins.

And it’s _precisely_ because she was too caught up with her thoughts that Seulgi didn’t even _notice_ him standing there until she tilts her head upward at the individual obstructing her path. Where did he even _come_ from, terrifying her out of nowhere?!

As much as she may claim that she doesn’t wish to see him at all, the sudden double-take that her heart performs when he offers her a civilized, poised smile says otherwise.

That recognizable chiseled jawline and the familiar hairstyle that she’s run her hands through so many times in the past – except this time, it’s a beautiful, healthy shade of platinum blonde. His appearance is breathtakingly ethereal, making her cheeks tinge pink, making her lips part into a timid _“Oh”_.

Not a surprise. She wants to say that he looks good, but dare she admit, Jimin looks – _better_ than good. Perhaps it’s her sick, twisted thoughts wanting to inflict unnecessary torture on her weakened state of mind, but she can’t recall a single time where he looked _this_ attractive when they were together.

It makes her heart sink.

“Oh. Hey there.”

She swallows, unconsciously pressing a hand against her chest. “Hi.”

“You look um – nice.”

_(Internally, Seulgi rolls her eyes. Not this damn nonsense again.)_

“As do you. You’re sporting a new hair colour again, I see,” she states stiffly, brushing away his compliments. “Platinum blonde always suited you.”

“They insisted,” Jimin laughs, but the sound is stilted. Forced, almost. Taking a pause, he adds carefully, “I heard that – you're doing a collaboration with someone from the Korean National Ballet.”

That piques her interest. Suspiciously, she crosses her arms against her chest and asks, “What? Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“No, of course not,” he clarifies quickly, pulling at his hair. Oh, Jesus, why is he persisting with the small talk? She should’ve just said her thanks and went about with her duties. The discomfort between them now is palpable, and he tries to shrug this off. “I just wanted to wish you good luck. That’s all.”

 _That’s all._ Seulgi’s so disgusted with herself. On one hand, that signifies the end of the conversation and she’s more than eager to escape the tension. Yet, there’s a part of her that _wants_ him to continue his needless probing. She just can’t make up her mind, can she?

Within seconds, she decides on the former. Clearing her throat, she angles forward for a bow. “Alright, then. Well, I appreciate it. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way – “ 

Jimin steps to the side to let her through, and she’s just about halfway from the washroom when the door standing adjacent to him suddenly bursts open. There’s no mistaking that tall, lean figure, emerging from the cramped, messy space with a head of golden auburn flying behind her. Seulgi doesn’t manage to catch a proper glimpse of _who_ it is, but she recognizes the airy, lithe Alto pitch.

“Oh, Jimin- _oppa_! Sorry to keep you waiting! Ji-Soo _unni_ said you were looking for me?“

“Well, aren’t you a charmer today?”

Seulgi digs her nails into her palm.

Park Chae-Young. Of _course_. The beautiful Rosé from BLACKPINK.

It doesn‘t take a genius to put two and two together and having to listen to their quiet murmurs – her girlish giggling, the honeyed crooning, the extra touch of fondness in his way of speaking. God, it nauseates her to the very core.

She’s wrong. It was never Ji-Soo all along, was it?

Without saying another word, Seulgi storms off into an empty cubicle and spews out the remaining remnants of dead foliage trapped within her throat. As much as she wishes to put her energy into anger, she manages to convince herself that there are more important things to worry about for the time being.

And those things did **_not_** include an ex. Nor did it include a lovely, attractive girl who has innocently, unknowingly become her replacement within a short period of three months.

(Their three years meant nothing to him. Pitiful.) 

* * *

It happens quickly. _So_ , so quickly.

One minute, she’s preparing to belt out, “ _Everything will be okay_ ”.

The very next, the gigantic space gleaming with coral-pink orbs before her spins furiously, like she’s trapped in a high-speed centrifuge. The room revolves – around and around and around – with no signs of stopping, and the sheer momentum prompts her to projectile vomit into the lace sleeve of her outfit. Amidst the shrill, high-pitched screams at the terrifying scene unraveling before them, Seulgi still has enough of a grasp on reality to realize that the contents clogging her throat –

It’s not what she ate.

To her horrifying terror, it’s _red_. Bright-red, staining the skin on her hands like confetti and soaking through her clothes. Like a character in a horror movie – only, she’s not the heroine. If anything, she’s _definitely_ the one who is dying first.

This is not how she wanted to end this performance. If anything, why couldn’t this wait until she was backstage?

Seulgi attempts to stabilize herself by grasping wildly for someone – _anyone_ – for support. Seung-Hwan and Ye-Rim drop everything in their hands, sprinting for her, but eventually, the centrifugal force attacking her head from all sides is too excruciating to cope with. The microphone falls to the ground with an ear-piercing boom, and she collapses into Ye-Rim's arms, her head lolling into her shoulder.

The resounding ruckus in her ears soon fades away into nothingness like a faint, dying radio running on its last bits of power. Almost immediately, her eyes close shut and everything fades to jet-black.

* * *

When Seulgi comes to an hour later, she’s met with a wide array of grim emotions. The stylists, her managers – all of them remain incredibly still. Silent. Unwilling to speak – but _why_? She glances over to Ye-Rim first, offering a silent thanks with a nod for catching her in the nick of time, but the bubbly girl refuses to look her direction.

Seulgi’s heart sinks even lower when she catches a glimpse of the whites of the younger woman’s eyes. They're fiery red. Bloodshot.

Soo-Young and Seung-Hwan are sitting adjacent to one another, cross-legged on the leather sofa. Brows furrowed; lips pursed into thin, dismayed lines. A complete one-eighty from their normally jovial selves, who infected everyone within a meter radius with their positivity.

And finally, there’s Joo-Hyun, her demure facial features arranged into a completely inscrutable expression. She’s the only one standing amongst the large group, cupping something within her hands.

“What’s wrong?” Seulgi questions.

“Seulgi- _yah_ ,” she says, voice trembling. “Why did – why did you find it necessary to hide something so serious from us?”

Joo-Hyun unfurls her hands. Seulgi truly wished that she could’ve just died right then and there.

* * *

The exchange that happens within the privacy of their dressing room is not pretty, to say the least.

There are too many questions –

(Seung-Hwan is the first one to burst into tears, gripping Seulgi’s limp frame firmly as she rocks her back and forth like a pendulum. “Did you truly think you could keep this a secret forever?! God, Seul, what’s going on in that head of yours?!”

“Why couldn’t you just tell us what was happening to you!? We could’ve **_helped_** you!”

“Why does it have to be you, _unni_?!”

“We’re a team, and you never thought of relying on us!?”)

And too little answers.

Seulgi doesn’t dare say much. Her entire body is trembling at this point, wracked with nervousness. The secret is out now. What else can she do, but apologize for hiding it? The other four girls are too infuriated to speak, so she takes this opportunity to make her escape to the washroom again. Goddamnit, she’s fucked up so much in the past year – 

“Oh, Seulgi- _noona?”_

She doesn't need more incoming.

Standing before her was a bright and warm presence: Jeon Jung-Kook, greeting her with a toothy, bunny-like grin in the hallway. “Oh, it **_is_** you! Are you alright? Are you going to the hospital?” The concern he displays in his voice makes her feel so ashamed.

Seulgi shakes her head, tilting her gaze downward as she attempts to side-step her way past the worried youngster. “N-no. I’m just – “ Shit. Why is it that she just had to meet _him_?

“W-wait, what’s wrong? Are y-you _crying_?” He asks, incredulous. “S-Seulgi- _noona_? Are you okay?”

She tries to answer him, but instead of giving him proper words, he’s met with a violent, spluttering cough. A hurricane of flowers – speckled in bright-red splotches – escapes her lungs like a fierce, bloodthirsty tornado and onto the wall before them. The display is magnificently haunting, sticking to the white drywall like a piece of abstract art.

Only – this isn’t art. Even the simple-minded Jung-Kook knows right away there isn’t _anything_ remotely beautiful about this.

He’s too stunned to react. His hand, convulsing in pure shock, raises to cover his mouth. “S-Seulgi- _noona!”_ The poor boy is panicking, turning more and more frantic with each passing second. His expressions betrayed all of his unanswered questions: _How? Why? What on Earth was happening?!_

And at last, he screams, almost victoriously, “I-I’ll go get Jimine- _hyung_! He’ll know what to do!”

Even more shocking to him, however, is when she wipes the bloody liquid off the corner of her mouth, treating it like no big deal. She misses a few splotches here and there, but there was nothing more important than Jung-Kook right now. Jabbing a stern finger at his bewildered face, she instructs with pungent authority, “No. Don’t.”

“B-but, what **_IS_** that?! That – that's not normal! Is it?”

“No. You’re right,” she agrees. “It’s not.”

“W-what are you going to do about this?” Jung-Kook is near hysterical at this point. “T-there has to be something we can do! S-Seulgi- _noona_ , I want...I want to help you. Please. T-tell me how!”

“You want to help me?” Seulgi repeats in disbelief. Of all people that she’s asking for assistance, it just had to be her ex-boyfriend's best friend. What luck. “Then, keep your mouth shut. That’s all I need from you now. Can you do that for me, Jung-Kookie?”

“O-Okay.” He nods vigorously, but with the way he’s looking (Completely inconsolable), it seems as if he’s trying to convince _himself_ that he’ll be able to keep this a secret. “I-I promise.”

* * *

_From: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Sent At: 8:22 P.M._

_Hey Seulgi. Are you alright?_

When Seulgi receives this text message – from a number that she still has etched into the back of her mind, memorized by heart, no less – she finds herself furious, outraged.

How _dare_ he have the nerve to send her something like this when she caught him, fraternizing with a fellow friend? Wasn’t that more than enough? What else did he want to show her? Maybe bruised, purplish marks hiding underneath his turtleneck? Or does he purposefully _want_ her to stumble into an unlocked dressing room, where his guilty fingers would be found busily intruding the hidden sweet spots tucked away in Chae-Young's frame?

For some reason though, that anger quickly dissipates as soon as it comes. She replies. Formal, stilted, but still civil.

_To: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Sent At: 8:30 P.M._

_Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. Nothing to be concerned over._

_From: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Sent At: 8:35 P.M._

_Okay. That’s good to hear. I hope you’ve been well. Take care of yourself, yeah?_

* * *

27.

_[BREAKING] Red Velvet’s Triple-Threat, Kang Seulgi, Set to Leave the Entertainment Industry At Twenty-Seven!_

_[HOT] KANG SEULGI LEAVES SM ENTERTAINMENT, INDUSTRY – K-POP LEGEND NO MORE?_

* * *

At twenty-seven, Seulgi abruptly retires from the entertainment industry.

It’s an awful feeling to have to give up her career, but she knows that this is inevitable. She’s thankful for the incredible support system backing her, with SM releasing a statement to mask that incident as ‘ _being overworked_ ’ and her members striving to take better care of their sickly member.

But it’s only a matter of time before the disease takes complete control.

She struggled greatly through their first comeback stage, with the memories from that afternoon so clear in her mind: The production crew shut off the music just before it was her cue, requesting infuriatingly that she be pulled out for the numerous mistakes that she was committing.

Shamefully, she bowed in apology to the irate workers around her, and shambled her way out of her stage attire and into a private bathroom stall to vomit out a flurry of flowers when – 

“Ugh, just _look_ at her damn haggard self. Seulgi’s just dragging her members down at this point.”

Seulgi pressed her ear against the cold door, eyes widened in shock.

“And to think – “ Another voice crooned in agreement. “I used to think Ye-Rim was the black sheep.”

“Well, we all know who that position goes to now.” She hears a mean-spirited cackle: One that forces Seulgi’s legs to weaken and buckle as if they were made of jelly. “Seung-Hwannie and Soo-Youngie could probably take all of her lines. No differences made.”

Harsh as that staff members’ words may be, Seulgi knows that they held much truth. Hell, her members might’ve been thinking this, too, but didn’t voice out their concerns in fear that she would retaliate.

She didn’t. But still, never did she expect herself to make the bolded headlines at such a young age, because in her idealistic universe – if she _had_ to see her name emblazoned in ink on coarse pages – it should be titled with something gratifying. Something that would’ve made her family proud, like how Red Velvet sold out their Dome tour in Japan or how their coveted concert tickets sold out within thirty seconds.

Not like this. Never like this: Cut tragically short; parting from the world without any formal closure, with her condition ruining her faster than ever.

So bittersweet.

So – _damn hopeless_.

Seulgi reads through the article one more time, clutching the edges of the magazine as if her life depended on it whilst gazing yearningly at the photograph of the bright young woman the author had selected. It’s of a time when she was at her best, to which Seung-Hwan offhandedly commented, “When are you never at your best, Seul?”

(That answer, Seulgi thinks cruelly with a pained smile curved upon her lips, is easy enough. Just look at the pitiful state she’s in currently.)

That figure, the one with the eyes that shimmered and shone, dressed immaculately in one of her favourite ensembles, seems virtually unrecognizable to how she is now: With a narrow needle inserted expertly into one of the pulsating veins on her right arm; the skin on her limbs paper-thin and translucent.

While the vital signs monitor continues its metrical bleeping to signify that she’s still alive and breathing, she’s painfully accepted the truth that she’s teetering dangerously between the brink of life and death. Ironically enough, she muses as she folds the flimsy book aside, the last bits of her heart and soul were being sucked away in favour of sustaining a toxic organism growing within her.

(Then again, maybe _that’s_ how _Hanahaki_ thrived. It ate away at those persistent, unabated feelings she tried many times to rid, but couldn’t. And that, in turn, nurtured false hope, planting itself within the crevices of her ribcage.

Hope, that he may one day learn to love her again.

Deranged and deformed, but poetic, in a way.)

Ye-Rim tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke when she dropped by to visit the older woman before her guest appearance on Weekly Idol. “ _Unni_ , you’re like a walking, talking terrarium! Maybe we ought to give you some pesticides, huh?”

Soo-Young, in turn, sighed exasperatedly. “Are similes the only thing you excel at, Rim- _ah_?”

Seulgi laughed hoarsely, but she couldn’t treat the lighthearted banter as a carefree quip. It’s the cold, hard truth. The X-rays and the CT scan they perform daily shows new bunches sprouting in an uncontrollable manner, growing in bursts of five or six. The disease is progressing much too quickly for her team of physicians to manage. 

Still, Seulgi _had_ to ask. Several days prior, she inquired: “What’s my prognosis, Dr. Jung?”

The middle-aged man, often seen in the hallways wearing a kind-hearted smile on his wrinkly face, could no longer fake his optimism upon being confronted by his most difficult and stubborn case. He took one look at his clipboard, and then bore his gaze straight into hers. He wore an inscrutable poker-face that day.

“If you still refuse to perform surgery,” he said at last after a pregnant pause of silence, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Then, I don’t know what else I can do to help you, Seulgi- _sshi_.”

At that moment, Seulgi knew. The despairing fate awaiting her would be inevitable. She felt her heart drop.

“But, there’s still a chance of survival. And you know exactly what it entails. You still have some time to think it over,” he adds in afterthought, whirling around on his heel. “But not long. I’m sure you know that time does not wait for anyone. Not even you.”

His words are intentionally cruel but honest. He’s hoping to get the message hammered into her head, that _yes_ , her life is worth saving and that _yes_ , her refusing to agree to the procedure would be the most idiotic decision he’s witnessed in all the years he’s practiced medicine. 

In retrospect, Seulgi _knows_ that she should do it. When the thorns and the foliage are finally snipped away and her lungs are cleared of the infection plaguing her deteriorating body, she’ll be able to do what she loved once again. She’ll be able to stand on stage until her voice turns hoarse, and her vocal cords grow sore. She’ll age gracefully, bear children and spoil her grandchildren rotten.

But she doesn’t want to. 

She knows it’s foolish to continually cling so strongly to someone who no longer returned her affections. That someone’s already moved on, for God’s sake. She should, too. And she knows it’s foolish to let her condition worsen without any proper intervention, letting the disease ravage her body mercilessly.

However, as it had been said many times prior, the heart truly is a mysterious entity: One that renounces all logic and wisdom, especially when it came to something so complex. And the thing is, she’d rather take _that_ over any of the alternative outcomes. 

If she went ahead with the surgery, then, everything – the ups and downs shared, her memories with her first love – would be vanquished. Obliterated.

As if _they_ had never existed. She vehemently refused. 

The second option, however, was much worse. She would be left with no choice but – to confess everything. And if he agreed to selflessly save her life, by proclaiming his feelings for her once again under the condition that she could bring herself to believe them as genuine, then survival was guaranteed.

Except, they’ll be living out the remainder of their lives in a lie.

Selfish as Seulgi may have been throughout their relationship, this is one thing that she cannot be selfish about. No matter how much it hurts, she cannot take away something so priceless from Jimin – just for her own sake. She saw it with her own two eyes that night. He’s found someone so much better. There’s a beautiful girl taking her place; one, who would never leave him stressed after a single date, who has made him happier than she ever could, who seems to understand him in ways that she couldn’t.

God. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Why take away his happiness? She’d endure self-inflicted mutilation before anything else.

So, when the aging physician drops by Seulgi’s hospital room the next day, he’s wearing an expectant half-smile, anticipating a resolute answer from his patient.

But ten minutes later, he receives her final answer and he exits the room with a heavy heart. Her immediate family members stand huddled to the side, with her mother looking ghastly, almost as if she would faint. Her father and brother remain stony-faced and grim, exchanging curt nods as he passes them. While the doctor is never one to wear much emotion in the workplace, he finds tears stinging the corners of his eye. He refuses to let them unleash until he’s within the privacy of his office.

Whoever this person was – he must have meant everything to her.

* * *

_From: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Received At: 9:12 P.M._

_Did something happen? Why are you suddenly retiring?_

_To: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Sent At: 9:31 P.M._

_Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry about me._

* * *

As required of all departures from the industry, Seulgi is requested to handwrite letters to express her sincerest gratitude for all the love that she had received during the time that she was active. It’s not that she _wouldn’t_. It’s just that she’s penned so many during her tenure as a musician that she’s lost count already; she wouldn’t want anything to be repeated, in fear that it wouldn’t sound genuine.

Even to the end, Seulgi remains too good, too pure for this cruel world. And yet, she willingly punishes herself this way. And for _what_? A boy who took her to the highest peaks of Heaven, and then threw her back down to Hell when he grew bored and tiresome of her, treating her like some sort of plaything?

Joo-Hyun drops by later that afternoon to provide her with writing utensils and paper, but when Seulgi croaks out a frail ‘Thank-you’, the older woman can no longer mask her growing anger and explosively slams a clenched fist onto the table. Needless to say, she is livid – her anger isn’t just directed towards the very boy who tore her bedridden friends’ weakening heart to pieces, but at her foolishness as well.

“Why are you like this, Seulgi- _yah_?!”

Seulgi says nothing in return; Joo-Hyun already knows the answer to her question. It’s just that she’s unwilling to accept the answer.

Normally, one letter would suffice. This time, she writes two.

The first one, she addresses to her fans. She writes down her thoughts coherently, without having to use correction fluid, scribbling away in utmost silence. Twenty-five minutes later, she’s reached two pages of comprehensible text that conveys her thanks, her appreciation for their devotion to Red Velvet’s music and a cryptic message that she will see them again _‘another time’_.

(Against Seulgi’s wishes, Joo-Hyun ripped open the envelope. Her heart stopped when she read this particular section, and she soon found herself re-reading that one sentence over and over.

Each time she did, she’d shed a few more tears.)

At the very end, she signs it with her recognizable signature and the teddy bear that had always accompanied her name, sealing away her final responsibility as Red Velvet’s Seulgi once and for all. 

The second one, she addresses to Park Jimin.

This one, she gives her words more thought. She’s already drafted up a digital copy in the notes of her mobile that she wanted to put onto paper – of things that she wished that she could tell him in person, but would not be able to; of past memories shared; of old, affectionate conversations that she remembered by heart; of plans that they had made, but would never fulfill – but when her hand clutches the pen, it refuses to proceed past ‘ _Dear Jimin_ ’.

Through heavy, heaving gasps for air and a succession of bloodied lilies being regurgitated out of her system into a nearby bucket, she forces the tip of the pen downward and manages to write one.

Then, she scrunches it into a tiny paper ball and tosses it into the recycling.

She writes another. Rinse, repeat.

Over. And over. And over.

It’s as if God didn’t want her to finish her final task. Her nurse has her hands busy, having to run into her hospital room every fifteen minutes to empty out the blood-soaked pail.

But finally. _Finally._ Two hours. Ten drafts. Seulgi is finally satisfied with the final product. She tucks it into an envelope, seals it and places it into her bedside drawer.

“Are you done, my dear?” The nurse returns to check on her vitals, slightly alarmed to see the numbers for her blood pressure and heart rate spiked to an all-time high. What on _Earth_ was the girl doing?

“Yes,” Seulgi replies, wiping away the dried blood from the corner of her lips with a tissue. “Although, I do have one question.”

“Why, of course, dear! Anything you ask!”

Her sickly hands scrunch the fabric of the blanket as she asks, “Do you think Dr. Jung would – permit me to take a day leave from the hospital to visit my colleagues?”

* * *

Call it sheer, dumb luck or fate: It just so happens that BTS and Red Velvet are sharing promotional periods for their next albums this time around. She followed the news and saw all the promotional images taken. Against Joo-Hyun's wishes, she listened to the title track and downloaded _his_ solo, religiously listening to him serenading her about a forgotten love. 

She won’t have another chance to hear his honeyed vocal again for long. She needs to make it last.

Her mother guides the wheelchair through the crowded hallway, taking care to not bump into the young musicians passing them to prepare for their performances. Seulgi was advised to take a low profile, which she obeys through worn rags and baseball caps to shield her face, but it’s not enough. They instantly recognize her and greet her, swarming her with good wishes, warm embraces, and hopes of a speedy recovery.

Willowy, lithe Moon-Byul hugs the tiny girl, exclaiming, “I’m waiting for your return so we can collaborate again!”

Seulgi fakes a coarse laugh. “O-of course, _unni_. Selfish Part 2, it is.”

(But no. Those are all hollow words. It won’t happen again.)

They’re at the halfway point of reaching Red Velvet’s dressing room when another door two feet away bursts open. Seulgi’s mother yanks onto the handlebars of the wheelchair just in the nick of time and the tired woman angles forward at the figures that file out one by one.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that! We weren’t watching where we were going!”

Instantly, the blood running through Seulgi’s veins freeze. It’s Jeon Jung-Kook. And often, Jeon Jung-Kook did not go sauntering throughout these hallways without –

“My apologies, ma’am.”

Park Jimin in tow.

_Fuck._

Even without having to look, she can sense their curious eyes drinking her shabby appearance in. There must be some semblance of suspicious familiarity stirring in their minds, because their polished oxfords appear glued to the floor, refusing to move even an inch. The strangling quietness hovers heavily between them as the duo attempt to place her in their minds. Why does she seem so familiar? Where is she from?

Until, at last, it clicks. Jung-Kook's mouth falls open first.

“S-Seulgi- _noona_?”

Everything manages to come undone so, _so_ easily.

The vice-like grip Seulgi has on the wheels tightens, and her lower lip quivers at the sight of his feet, staggering backward slightly. Like a drunkard, losing his balance –

 _What an absolute dumbass. Stupid boy._ Even in times like these, why does she _still_ think of him with such affection? She shakes the thought away, tipping her head downwards, forcing it as low as it could go. There’s a heavy sensation settling deep inside her chest. Another heavy surge of petals, perhaps, forcing their way up her trachea – 

“It’s – nice to see you again,” she struggles to say, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t cough out anything that would warrant attention. “ _Umma_ , let...let’s go.”

There’s something in her mouth. Flat, with a tinge of copper. She slams her fists into the handlebars in panic. “ _Please._ ”

“Ah. Then, excuse us.”

The duo shamble towards the sides, clearing a pathway for her to maneuver through. Seulgi doesn’t spare one final glance at Park Jimin, but she wonders whether her ears were deceiving her because they seem to catch – something.

~~Whispers that closely resemble her name, escaping off his lips painstakingly.~~

* * *

Jung-Kook traces his fingers across the edge of the paper, awestruck at the thickness of the envelope. Even when sick, she still manages to write so much – and with such neat printing, too. Seulgi’s typewriter-like handwriting will never cease to amaze him.

But that’s not what he can focus on right now. They’re hiding within the confines of an unused dressing room, far away from spying eyes, but they need to make haste before their absence arouses suspicion.

Jung-Kook trembles at the glazed flash set in her eyes, swallowing the bundle of nerves in his throat. "Seulgi- _noona_. You’re really entrusting me with this?”

“There’s no other person I can think of that would suit this role better,” she replies tiredly, folding her hand atop his. His skin radiates heat, whilst hers is icy to the touch. His usually warm brown eyes widen in shock. Even though he’s notorious for being an engaging, charismatic performer on stage, times like these are what makes Seulgi realize that he’s still very much the same innocent, sweet seventeen-year-old boy from back then.

His fear shines deep in his irises, and his lower lip shakes as he cries out pathetically, “What’s _happening_ to you? This is – because of the flowers, right? Is this _Hanahaki_? It has to be!”

 _Isn’t it obvious? And you know why I'm like this? It's because I’m just a foolish girl that loves your hyung too much,_ is what she would grimly say.

Instead of answering his question, Seulgi presses urgently, “Just do as I say, okay? Don’t ask any more questions, Jung-Kook. Give this to him – when the timing is right.”

The distraught boy flaps his arms up and down, shrieking, “It-it **_HAS_** to be Jimin- _hyung_ , isn’t it?! It’s him! He’s doing this to you?!”

“He’s not doing anything to me!” Seulgi retorts. In a futile attempt, she takes hold of Jung-Kook's heaving shoulders with both hands, squeezing viciously hard. Once isn’t enough, so she does it again, mustering whatever strength she had left as if her life depended on it. “Now, just. **_Listen._** Okay? All you need to do is do _noona_ this one last favour.”

“H-How will I – ?”

The conversation ends on an ominous note, with an agonized Seulgi leaving behind a teary, broken-hearted boy.

“You’ll know. You **_will_** know.”

* * *

_From: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Received At: 10:31 P.M._

_I know this sounds really out of the blue, but I can’t help but be worried. Are you okay? Are you sick? You don’t need to tell me the details if you don’t want to. I would just appreciate a one-worded answer._

_From: 82-04-4512-9638_   
_Received At: 1:02 A.M._

_Seulgi?_

* * *

28.

Seulgi recalls a faint memory from her hazy past where she once donned on crazily colourful bracelets and shaded worksheets in pencil crayons as assignments. First or second grade, maybe. Her elementary school teacher had written, in gigantic words on the chalkboard, “What did you aspire to be?” 

Some screamed out doctors. Some wanted to become renowned researchers. Others wanted to be a member of the Power Rangers – that sparked a flurry of amused chuckles around the classroom. 

As for Seulgi, she remembers saying two answers. The first, obviously, was ‘ _performer_ ’. The second, however, was ‘ _bride_ ’. 

It just goes to show how she had once viewed the world with starry eyes, but can she be blamed for such a guileless perspective? She was a _child_ , after all, deluded into romantic fairy-tale endings and princes that would whisk her away into the sunset from all the stories that were pumped into her since she was three. 

Of course, as she aged, Seulgi knew better than to believe in such tales. Princes did not exist, but hungry, ravenous wolves lurked everywhere. Prior to her debut, her mother had warned her to not place her trust – or her heart, for that matter – into the clutches of someone who would only take advantage of her kindness. 

She listened. For a good while, at least, making up a list of rules that she swore to abide by – but that never lasted. Because when Park Jimin stumbled into her life that humid Summer afternoon and candidly confessed his feelings for her through a gentle kiss one year later, those innocent visions of sharing intimate vows, traipsing down the carpeted aisle in a beautifully designed wedding dresses and sharing a waltz during their first dance had come rushing back. 

Seulgi really thought that they had a shot. It’s such a far-fetched fantasy now; she won’t have that chance anymore. 

The medication they’ve administered to help her surmount the aching pain is so overwhelmingly powerful that it makes her lose her senses completely. She can’t focus clearly anymore; all she sees are blurry faces surrounding her bed. Too many voices. Too much noise. Too much raucous crying. She can’t leave in peace at this rate. Still, she picks out a quiet murmur – a voice that is near tears – asking her what she wanted to do after this was over. “What should we do after this, _unni_? Should we – should we get _galguksoo_ at your favourite restaurant?” 

The overpowering stimulus forces her in and out of hazy consciousness, but there’s just enough awareness left in her that she lets a lazy smile drift onto her face. _Galguksoo_ actually sounds like a wonderful idea. The oxygen mask latched tightly to the bottom half of her face fogs with each breath. “Sure.” 

“Stay with us, _unni_. We can’t win our awards without you.” 

Oh, they can. Her eyes are barely half-open now as she tries to reassure them to the best of her ability that they’ll thrive and fight in the industry for another five years. “You’ll – be fine. Without me.” 

“What can we even do for you?” This person – this sounds like Soo-Young, right? Gripping her tired hands with such tenacity. Something wet sploshes onto her gown. “One last thing?” 

Seulgi thinks. She thinks and thinks. And at last, she uses her final breath to say this. 

“Whatever happens. To me. Please. Don’t blame. Him.” 

And then, her eyelids close shut. They do not open again. Her heartbeat ceases, fading into a stagnant, steady line. 

Ye-Rim is the first to scream out her name, throwing her arms over the body of the lifeless woman. 

* * *

When the first letter is published, the entire music industry comes to a standstill. Backstage, the hallways that were once teeming with life, chatter and bright, bubbly laughter falls eerily silent. The idols, the musicians, the dancers: All they do is stagger around lifelessly, zombie-like. It’s simply unfathomable that the life of such a bright, young woman with such immense potential had to be cut so short, lost to the throes of an undisclosed illness that killed her from the inside, and refused to let people see. 

They’ll remember her for her bravery. They’ll applaud her for her courage, for her struggles to stand so willfully strong on stage and give it her best every single time. 

Park Jimin, however, knows the truth, having read the second letter that was delivered to him from a trembling Jung-Kook just a few hours after the funeral. He’s not sure why, but upon greeting the four remaining members, they seemed to treat him – differently. 

Tepid. Standoffish, almost. 

He was advised to read it upon returning to the dormitory, which he did. And attempted. 

But he couldn’t proceed past _this_. 

_Jimin, I’m sorry for whatever I did that made us fall out of love. I can only hope that whoever you end up_ _with, they’ll_ _provide you with the reassurance that you didn’t get during our time together._

* * *

Seven hours later, in the middle of the night, Park Jimin hurries into the washroom with an irrepressible urge to dry heave into the toilet. 

It takes a few moments to finally cough it out, but upon seeing it, Jimin sinks to his knees.

He watches the red-tainted petal flutter daintily into the water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Twist: Jimin, too, is now starting to suffer from the effects of the Hanahaki Disease. Here's a question for you guys. After all that he's done, do you think he's deserving of it? LOL. 
> 
> In my perspective, I think a LOT of us can attest to this feeling of wanting someone to fulfill the void of the person that we once loved - and I'm sure a lot of you also know that feeling of seeing the one you loved enamoured with someone else other than you. 
> 
> For Seulgi, it may have only been a snippet, but she saw how "happy" Jimin appeared to be with Chae-Young. She couldn't take that happiness away from him when, despite everything that's happened, she saw how much better he became without her. We all know how selfless she can be. T__T 
> 
> Jimin, on the other hand, only sees Chae-Young as a rebound, as someone who could provide him with temporary relief from the hurt. He understood that his relationship with Seulgi wasn't working out, that they needed to call it quits, but regardless, there are just some things that he can never replace. And of course, a first love is one of them. 
> 
> Thanks again for following me on this hellish, emotional rollercoaster! :3 See you guys soon!


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